


A Struggle of Blood

by SkaraBrae_13



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Angst, Assassination, Bangkorai, Battle of the Red Ring, Beast Blood, Chorrol, Colovian Highlands, Cyrodiil, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dustman Cairn, Elder Scroll Lore, Empire, Eventual Smut, Evermor, F/M, Forsworn Rebellion, Fourth Era, Hail Sithis! Quest, High Rock, Hircine - Freeform, Imperials, Jorrvaskr, Markarth Incident, Nord, Oral Sex, Proving Honor Quest, Romance, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Sex, Silver Hand, Size Difference, Size Kink, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Great War, Skyrim Politics, Smut, Tamriel, Thalmor, The Companions - Freeform, To Kill an Empire Quest, Werewolves, White-Gold Concordat, Whiterun, Wuuthrad, Ysgramor's Tomb, breton - Freeform, schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkaraBrae_13/pseuds/SkaraBrae_13
Summary: Sent to Skyrim to stay with her uncle, Auriane is thrust into a world very different from her home in Chorrol, but in many ways more familiar to the solitary Breton. She soon encounters Farkas, a warrior with the Companions. As he is continually drawn into her life, she realizes that there is something beyond her understanding that binds them together. But as Farkas struggles with a deep, inner burden, a rift opens between them that may not be so easily mended. As the world around them falls apart in the wake of rebellion and Imperial politics, will the unlikely pairing find their way together or apart?





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE COMPANIONS AND DARK BROTHERHOOD QUEST LINES
> 
> This is a re-working of an original piece I posted on a different forum. It was in response to a prompt asking to explore Farkas struggling with his "inner wolf." Namely, his beast blood urges him to roughly dominate his partner, but his natural inclination is to be gentle and kind and this inner turmoil tears at him.
> 
> I have never though of Farkas as an "Ice brain." I think he's a man of few words, but he makes those words count. He's more introspective and tempered than Vilkas, but the nuance of his character is lost in the brash Nord culture. In short, Farkas is misunderstood. At least, that's how my Farkas will be written. :) 
> 
> This is my first post on this site, so any and all (constructive) criticism is welcome!

Auriane Motierre stepped from her uncle Belethor’s shop into the sunny, clear day. Her childhood home of Chorrol was certainly warmer, but, for Skyrim, Whiterun was fairly warm and pleasant, at least during Sun’s Height.

The market stalls were bustling and the sounds of Whiterun were all around. She smiled at the young Nord leaning on a column outside. His blond hair tied back in the typical Nord plaiting. Her parents had sent her to stay with her uncle for an indeterminate time. The political climate in Cyrodiil was always tumultuous, even some thirty years after the Great War, but her father had hinted at things unfolding and thought it best if she was away. Of course, in this day and age, was there a place in all of Tamriel that was unblemished by war and strife? Even here in Skyrim, the land was embroiled in civil war. Nord killing Nord. Kin killing kin. The one constant in all of Nirn—war.

At twenty-five years, she was no longer a child, but the yolk of womanhood felt strange, still so foreign. She was eager to live a life of her own making and discover what the fates had in store for her, but she respected her parent’s wishes and obeyed their request that she stay with her mother’s brother in Whiterun. She had been surprised that they had not sent her to stay with her kin in Evermor, but she was curious about staying in Skyrim for a time.

Being Breton, she was naturally smaller than the Nords she passed in the streets of Whiterun, but she was not as painfully petite as many Breton-folk. Although bookish and quiet, Auriane did have a penchant for physical activity and she possessed a beautifully strong body. Today, she had chosen to wear a form-fitting undersheath of thin linen, bound by a dark leather bodice and a moss-green overskirt. The attire had been a gift from her uncle, an uncharacteristically kind gesture, but he wanted to make a good impression on her father and the townsfolk of Whiterun. Her arrival had coincided with preparations for the Merchant’s Festival and Belethor seemed relieved when she said she was going out to explore the town, eager to attend to his inventory and customers.

Auriane browsed the market stalls. Fresh fruits and vegetables, shiny bobs and trinkets. It was all very charming. There was a simple, rustic charm to Whiterun that was so very different from Chorrol, which seemed positively cosmopolitan in comparison. Although raised among the wealth and prosperity of the Colovian Highlands, there was a vibrancy here that spoke to Auriane. She felt her body charge with excitement of the unknown and the different. She brushed a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, the sun catching the strands and illuminating the auburn tones within. The dark elf at the meat stall gawked openly. She looked up to see him staring deeply at her, as though he wanted to melt into her very body. As she lowered her eyes, long fawn lashes obscured her peculiar, but striking deep-golden gaze. The diluted Altmer blood would boldly appear every now and again in the Breton offspring, golden eyes or slightly pointed ears. The dark elf winced and cleared his throat, looking downward and shifting his weight. Amused, Auriane made the journey up the stone stairs to the park with the tree, feeling the elf’s eyes hot on her back, slowly moving down to absorb the wondrous curves of her bottom.

She sat on a bench under the large tree the locals called the Gildergreen and watched the town children play. She felt a pit of homesickness rise as she was reminded of the Great Oak in Chorrol. The Gildergreen was in full bloom and little petals floated past upon the breeze, their intoxicating scent perfumed the air. The calls of the priest at the shrine of Talos punctuated the hum of the city, calling for worship, calling for humility, calling for revolution. 

“Hmm.” Auriane whispered under her breath. She hated the Thalmor and their totalitarian restrictions on their client states. “Who cares what gods you worship?” She had remarked to her father over dinner one evening. The Elder Breton had nearly spewed his Surilie Red. He admonished her openly and leaned forward, so that only she could hear him. “No matter our inclinations, the ears of the Thalmor are long indeed.” He leaned back in his chair and took a slow, measured draught from his silver cup. Auriane had fully understood his meaning. From that day, she kept guard of her opinions more closely. 

But her thoughts could still run wild and be her own. As she listened to the priest, nearly in a panic as he cried out against the injustice of the banned Talos worship, her thoughts could not help but drift to the civil war that now raged across Skyrim. Her blood boiled at the thought of a Stormcloak victory, especially led by that lying, coward Ulfric. How could he not see that the real enemy was the Thalmor? They had invaded Valenwood, annexed Elsweyr and battered Hammerfell into chaos. After the decimations of the Great War, or the “First War Against the Empire” as the Thalmor ominously called it, Cyrodiil was ravaged and the Empire was hanging on by mere threads. No one wanted the White-Gold Concordat, but something had to be done to stop the slaughter and the strife. Those who were not killed were taken by disease or hunger. She remembered the stories her nurse had told her by firelight in the comforts of her family home. Auriane could still remember how her stomach turned when she felt the soft, warm bed around her as she listened to stories of such suffering. 

Those in her family thought the Concordat was a ruse, a temporary stopgap until the Empire rallied and quashed the Thalmor presence once and for all. But with the damn Forsworn rebellion in Markarth and the Stormcloaks causing civil war, it was easy for Emperor Titus Mede II to hide his lack of will to war with the Thalmor under the guise of those superseding events. The Empire needed to be united against the real enemy and the Stormcloak rebellion was weakening the Empire with its insistence on prayers to their man-god. Of course she had no problem with people praying to whom they chose, but to risk losing everything for it? To sacrifice the very Empire, the last bastion against the relentless threat of the Thalmor? How would things be for Talos worship once a Thalmor sat upon the Ruby Throne or replaced a Nord High-King? It was something Auriane could not understand. She remembered hiding in dark corners and listening to her father and his colleagues talk politics. She could still feel the icy and overwhelming powerlessness in her chest. Powerful men, playing war, but the real casualties littered the fields staining the land dark with bitter blood. “It is easy to make war,” her father had told her once, alone in his library, “it is far harder to make peace.”

She could feel a familiar knot tightening behind her left eye. She was prone to headaches and did not fancy ruining her day with one. She breathed in slowly, the scent of the Gildergreen once again calming her. She closed her eyes and listened beyond the shouting priest—she heard the light laughter of children playing, the deeper mumble of people in conversation, the distant calls of merchants from the stalls below. Further beyond she could hear water as it hit the stones and rushed past, the crisp call of birds, the low hum of crickets. As she listened harder still, Auriane could hear the tall, golden wheat gently waving beyond the city gates. She continued the slow, steady breaths and felt the knot release in her forehead. 

\----------

After a while, she returned to her uncle’s shop. Upon her arrival, he informed her that there was a shipment of vegetables needing to be picked up from Pelagia farm on the outskirts of Whiterun. She offered, relishing the chance to explore outside the city walls. Belethor seemed uncertain. He reminded her that he was her guardian here in Skyrim and that he’d be gruesomely dispatched if anything happened to her. She reassured him that she would be fine. 

Just passed noon, she made her way down the main path to the city gates. Auriane smiled and nodded at the Imperial blacksmith sharpening an imposing blade. She made her way through the gates and ramparts, down to the stables. The sun was still warm but not hot and the flat plains of Whiterun offered a cool, unobstructed breeze. Lazily enjoying her stroll down to the open fields, she almost didn’t see the giant across the road.

It was a massive, hulking human like beast with grey skin, matted black hair, and animal skins slung about its waist. He stood twelve feet tall and filled out his frame with terrible musculature and strange carvings all over his torso. He swung a large, rough-wood club at three figures before him. They dodged his blows, barely able to strike at him. Finally his club connected with a young Redguard male, rocketing the poor man’s lifeless body twenty feet in the air. Without thinking, Auriane moved forward.

“Stay away, silly girl!” yelled a female Nord. She had long red hair and green war paint striped across her face. “This is no place for you!” The giant struck again, almost crushing the woman’s head. She had to duck low and roll out of the way. Auriane stepped back as the Redguard’s body fell before her with a thud. The giant, undeterred, swung again at the warriors, growling fiercely at them. The club connected with a wooden fence, demolishing the large posts as though they were toothpicks. The shards exploded into the air like a bomb, a Nord male closest to the fence took the worst of it. Auriane could see large wood fragments piercing his skin, blood streaming, but he appeared not to be bothered. He tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes, framed in grime and black war paint. He lunged at the giant, his axe slicing off a healthy chunk of its flesh. The beast roared and kicked his leg, sending the Nord flying backward. 

Auriane in a flash stooped down and disentangled the bow and arrows from the limp Redguard’s body. She took aim, exhaled, and released an arrow. Her body was alert, but calm. The arrow shot straight into the giant’s right eye, sending ribbons of blood gushing down his terrible face. The giant screamed, grabbing his eye, and staggered backward. While only for a split-second, it was enough of a distraction for the two warriors to re-group and finish their foe. 

As the Nord male jerked his axe back from the giant’s skull, he eyed Auriane. She stood still, watching them, the bow still in her left hand. Another cool breeze whipped up about her, rustling her skirt and hair, chilling her skin as the sweat she had not noticed began to dry. He walked over to her.

“I’d ask if you are alright, but you seem fine.” His deep, gruff voice had a surprisingly lyrical tone that sent a sudden warmth running through Auriane.

“I am, but I can see your arm is not.” She placed the bow on the ground, beside the Redguard’s body and took the Nord by his arm. Her left hand looked small under his massive forearm; the rippling muscle now covered in thick blood. She placed her right hand just above his arm, closed her eyes and whispered something inaudible. A yellow-white glow emanated from him as she finally touched his wounds with her right hand. 

“Mmm… that feels nice.” He rumbled. She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he towered over her, at least a foot above her frame. His blue eyes pierced her as he regarded her. She looked back down and the blood was gone. Bits of wood were falling off his arm as though they were simply placed on his skin. Still holding his arm in her hands, she slowly looked back up at him, her eyes lingering over his broad chest-plate, scuffled from battle. His thick, powerful neck streaked with dirt and perspiration. His full, sensuous lips were curling into a subtle smile, framed by slight, dark stubble. After a moment longer than necessary, Auriane slowly withdrew her hands from his arm, but allowed herself the luxury of letting the pads of her fingers brush languidly over his skin. She had no idea what was wrong with her.

"T…there.” She stammered after a moment. “Now you are fine too.” She managed a small smile and then looked around. “Is anyone else hurt?”

“You mean beside Raldi, here?” The red-haired warrior remarked as she walked over to her. “That was some impressive archery. Where did you train?” Even the female Nord stood six or seven inches taller than Auriane, who paused before answering.

“Back home.” She whispered, looking down. The intensity of their stares was nearly overwhelming, nearly primal. Auriane’s skin prickled. 

“Well, I don’t give compliments where not due. I’m Aela, this is Farkas. We are Companions from Jorrvaskr.”

“I am Auriane, I am visiting my uncle in town.”

“Come to our feast tonight and celebrate the slaying of the giant. We will mourn Raldi and honor you for your bravery.” Auriane looked from the woman to the man. His blue eyes were still piercing her. She could not decide if she was plagued by discomfort or something else. 

“Yes,” he finally said, “You would be most welcomed.” His deep voice washed over her like warm, silky oil. They stood looking at one another as though in a trance, broken only by a not so subtle cough from Aela.

“Well,” Aela started, shaking her head at Farkas and raising an eye-brow, “We will be off now.” She nodded at Auriane and then turned to her companion. “Farkas, grab Raldi.” The large Nord reached down and grabbed the deceased Redguard with one hand, slinging him effortlessly over one shoulder. He gave Auriane one finally look, nodded at her and then followed after Aela.

Auriane watched them for a moment, making their way back toward the city. She bit her lip as another breeze washed over her, cooling her enflamed skin. She glanced back at the dead giant and then made her way to Pelagia Farm.

\----------

“Absolutely not.” Belthor called up at her. He was downstairs where he sold his goods, but she could tell that he was craning up at her from the stairs.

“Look, it’s just a feast. I’ve already done the hard part in helping to kill the giant.” She yelled back, hefting the linen undersheath over her head.

“Exactly. Killing giants was not part of your arrangement here. By Akatosh, your father would skin me alive if he knew you were mixed up in this.” Belethor had a strain of despair in his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Let the thing maul them and me?” She heard him exhale an exacerbated huff.

“No, you were supposed to let those mangy sell-swords fend for themselves and let the damn guards earn their salaries. I pay enough in taxes, which the Jarl has recently raised again, by the way . . .” Belethor trailed off. 

Auriane rolled her eyes and poured the pitcher of water into the basin. After her return from Pelagia farm, she had been unusually flush. She shrugged it off to the encounter with the giant, but blue eyes pierced her mind. She shivered and quickly forced herself to still her thoughts—she was just being foolish. Splashing the cool water over her face and neck felt wonderful. 

“Wait. Are you washing?” Belethor called from downstairs. “I will not continue to talk to you while you are… are…”

“Naked?” Auriane offered.

“Unclothed.” Belethor said flatly. She could hear footsteps as her uncle left the landing to the loft and exited the store. 

“No doubt on his way to the Bannered Mare to ogle the local maids.” Auriane murmured. Her uncle did have quite the reputation. She couldn’t help but laugh aloud as she continued washing.

After drying and applying her favorite scented oil from home to her hair and body, she looked through her travel bags, still unpacked. She pulled a long dress from one of her packs. It was a wine-colored thick linen frock with long-sleeved. Slipping it effortlessly over her head, she cinched her waist with a low, leather belt and slipped on her oiled leather flats. She looked at herself in the reflecting glass. “Well, they won’t write ballads of my beauty,” she thought, “but I’m pleased enough with my own appearance.” She looked at the dress, which gracefully scooped over her collarbones. She could get away without a necklace, which was just as well for Auriane was not one for many adornments. That is, unless you could call a book an adornment. 

She made her way downstairs and noticed that there was an empty table set for two. She looked around and saw a meager attempt at dinner in the cooking pot. Auriane sighed and felt poorly about dismissively treating her uncle. Truthfully, she did not know him well—he had run into some trouble in Evermor, from where her mother’s kin hailed, and the family was happy to have him far away in Skyrim. But he had treated her well and she was grateful for his hospitality. Auriane vowed to make it up to him and spend better time with him while she was in Skyrim. “Of course, who knows how long I’m supposed to stay here?” She thought, again sighing. 

As Auriane pushed open the large door to Jorrvaskr, it creaked under its own weight. She was greeted with loud celebrations, an immense roaring fire-pit and drunken revelry. Someone was atop the table, singing a baudy song, eliciting cheers from crowd. Two people were brawling in the corner, two others were making out by a sword rack. It looked like general bedlam.

Auriane loved it.

Suddenly, Aela saw her from across the room, leapt up on the table and shouted above the noise.

“Here she is! The hero of Pelagia farm!” The crowd turned to her and roared a cheer. The hairs on Auriane’s arm raised from the din, she shook her head and laughed. As she made her way over to the table, people shook her hand and slapped her back. Auriane knew they were just being friendly, but more than once, their hearty welcome sent her staggering. 

“Hey!” a hulking blonde Nord yelled leaning down toward her face, “You can be my new drinking buddy! Let’s go get some mead!” He slapped her shoulder, sending her back a few steps. She lost her balance and fell right toward the roaring flames. Her eyes widened as she flailed to stop the fall, feeling the heat coming incredibly close. Suddenly, she felt a strong hand grasp her left shoulder, lifting her up. Another strong hand grasped the right side of her waist, stabilizing her. She then felt a warm body press up behind her.

“Leave off Torvar.” That deep, gruff voice sent shockwaves right to her stomach.

“Alright, alright Farkas. Just trying to be friendly.” The blonde Nord sauntered off, yelling at someone else. Auriane just stood still for a moment, then turned to see the male Nord from the fight with the giant before her, his hand still on her waist.

“Greetings.” She said, her mouth dry. She craned her neck to look up at him; he was impossibly close. “Thanks for, ah, saving me. Don’t think that would have been too pleasant.” 

“Glad to help. Guess I owed you.” He smiled down at her. Auriane could feel the air getting hotter and heavier. There was a long pause.

“So…” She started, but he still didn’t say anything. Farkas continued to stare at her. She thought she would pass out. Finally, she managed, “You don’t speak a lot do you?”

“What should I say?” He asked, without any sense of sarcasm.

“I don’t know, I guess what ever you want to talk about.” She suggested, still nearly pressed against him. He stayed firmly close to her and she had no inclination to move away.

“I’m not much for talking. My brother Vilkas is the one who talks.” She nodded in acknowledgment and pressed her lips into almost a smile. Auriane never though of herself as much of a social person, but she was positively verbose compared to him. Normally she would have extricated herself from this awkwardness, but she was frozen. A sigh caught in her chest. 

Farkas watched her and then continued. “Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor and my brother has his smarts.” He continued to fix her with his eyes. There was a primal intensity about him that Auriane felt herself responding to, as though their bodies spoke on a level different than consciousness. Suddenly, the intensity of his gaze cleared and Farkas looked away. A sad expression washed over his features.

“What is it?” She asked, instinctively reaching up to touch his face, her soft warm fingers connecting with his skin, hot from the fire and rough from battle. She felt his jaw tense and he inhaled sharply. For a moment she regretted it, like a person who moved in too quickly upon a wild animal. She had never been so bold in all her life. “What in Akatosh is wrong with me?” She thought. Auriane withdrew her hand, but Farkas caught it in his own, turning to look at her. 

“There are . . . things, you do not know.” He started hesitantly. “Thing . . . I can’t . . .” He trailed off, uncertain in his words, brows furrowing. Auriane stood silently, regarding this massive, battle-worn Nord. He had just shown her this vulnerability. It was brief and fleeting, for he quickly let her hand go and walked away, but she could still feel the heat of his hand wrapped around her own. The intensity of his gaze seared a mark on her soul.

She walked over to the table and poured herself a long glass of cool mead and took a heady draught, the liquid proving some small relief to the intense fire she felt inside. She exhaled deeply and surveyed the room for Farkas, but he was gone.

“I must congratulate you.”

A voice spoke behind her. She turned to see an older Nord with silver-white hair and beard, a scrolled war tattoo on his weathered face. “I hear you are partly the reason we did not lose more than Raldi today.” He offered his hand. “I am Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions.”

“Thank you.” She said, taking his hand in her own and nodding slightly, “I am Auriane Motierre of Chorrol. It was my honor to fight. Your warriors are fierce. The young Redguard,” she paused, “he fought bravely.”

“Your words are kind and your deeds will be remembered in these halls long after we have departed from this world.” He looked at her like a grandfather, a kindness in his eyes. Auriane was puzzled. “Please,” he continued, “Would you come and commune with me, Auriane? I . . . have something I wish to discuss with you.” He gestured away from the crowds and Auriane nodded in acceptance. She was eager to hear what the old man had to say, curious about the unexplainable glow and familiarity in his eye.

\--------------

Farkas watched her walk away with Kodlak. No doubt the old man would want to talk with her. She proved to be a fearless warrior and talented archer. However, the idea of her working with the Companions, or worse yet joining, made Farkas despair. He was inexplicably and painfully drawn to her. So much so, he could scarcely breathe in her presence. Those golden eyes locking upon him, framed by those thick lashes, those full lips that would spread into the sweetest smile. Her tiny, but curvy frame, offering ample places for his mind and lust to wander. Tonight, she was clothed in that dress that looked like poured wine suspended around her body, wrapping her in all the best places. His thighs tightened, but his chest also burned. It was more than just the need to satisfy his sword. She had fiercely shot the giant in the eye and held her ground. And the way she looked at him . . . . This feeling, this primal reaction to her was different to anything he had felt before. It made him uncomfortable and he did not like being uncomfortable. He shook his head and walked outside into the night air. He needed to clear his mind.

He walked over to his favorite watch point, overlooking the hold. The air would rush up from the plains and blow against his skin, bringing forth the sweet scents of lavender and honey from the meadow below. Light from the pale half moons washed over him. He examined his forearm, no marks or scars from the fight earlier. Farkas looked up to the orbs and mouthed a silent curse to Hircine. He gripped the stone wall before him, leaning against it and unwitting lost himself in thought again about her.

Auriane. 

His lips mumbling her name like a prayer against the dark. He closed his eyes and saw her as she was today, her figure coming toward him, down the road from the city, the sunlight filtering through her brown hair, catching the auburn highlights and setting them ablaze. Her slender waist drawn by her leather bodice, flaring out to the inviting width of her hips, balanced by the full swell of her breasts. Farkas breathed in sharply. He could see her long neck, pale and set against delicate collarbones. How could something so fierce be so soft and fragile as well? Suddenly in his mind's eye they were alone in that field, his fingers combing through her hair, feeling the warm, silky strands part against his fingertips. He leaned in to her neck, catching the scent of warm spices as he pressed his lips against her porcelain skin. Her arms wrapped around him, pressing her tiny frame against him. Her fingers groping his back and arms, her touch sending pulses throughout his body. A warm glow began in the pit of his stomach. He saw himself now looking at her close up, so near, he could see tawny freckles on the bridge of her nose and the way her eyes shined as she smiled at him.

At him.

Farkas.

He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb tracing along her bottom lip, full and ripe like a delicious, dark plum. He could feel the tension of her lip against his thumb as she kissed against it. Her lips parted and her chest rose with the breath of anticipation. Her teeth pulling gently on this thumb, her ruby mouth closing, taking him in...

Farkas wouldn’t dare think further. He muffled an anguished growl. He suddenly found himself fighting back hot tears. Disgusted and shamed, he punched the stone wall, chipping rock and bone. A dull scream in his skull echoed his rage at what he knew could not be.

\----------

Kodlak poured two glasses, placing one before a seated Auriane. They were in a small sitting room outside of his quarters. Thanking him, she took a drink and set the cup back on the table, avoiding the numerous parchments and books strewn about.

“This may seem odd, but I am old and have seen many things in my day. I do not have the luxury of time to wax poetic, so I’ll cut to the chase. I think it has been ordained for you to help the Companions.” She paused for a moment, and then spoke.

“Well, what makes you think this Kodlak? Because I helped fell the giant?”

“Auriane, you are from Cyrodiil, but your blood is from High Rock. You know of the magic and forces at work behind the fabric of our living world. Age and . . . life have tempered my hot-blooded impulses and opened my mind to the mysteries of the Nirn.” He took a deep breath before beginning again. “I have see you Auriane, in visions.” He stopped, surveying her face for clues as to her thoughts.

Auriane did not respond right away. This was not the first person she had heard speaking of visions in these past weeks. Indeed, it was because of a vision her parents had sent her to Whiterun.

“What did you see Kodlak?”

“The details are . . . uncertain. But I saw your face, clear as day, standing before me and here you are. I knew not your name before an hour ago, but I knew your face.” He again stopped, his eyes taking in every wrinkle of her brow for understanding. “I do not know what role you may play, but I do not think it a coincidence.”

“No, it would seem not.” Auriane said thoughtfully. She was again quiet for a moment. “What is it that you are suggesting Kodlak?”

“A very important artifact has been taken from us. We must retrieve it, for honor and for the survival of the Companions. I now believe you are meant to retrieve it.” 

“But why me? There are those here who are far better warriors and far more vested in the stories of this hall.”

“I sense . . . a strength in you I have never felt before. Not in any other Companion, not even in myself. It confirms the visions and it now confirms my heart. You are the key.” Kodlak watched her as she again lost herself in thought. On one hand, this was the craziest thing she had ever heard. However, on the other hand, it was the first thing spoken in her life that had ever made so much sense. She took a measured breath.

“Yes Kodlak, I will agree to pursue this for now. It may not be what either of us imagine, but I do believe the signs are pointing me here, to you and to the Companions.” Kodlak breathed an audible sigh of relief. Auriane was puzzled. Though the coincidence of visions was odd, it still seemed unbelievable that this battle-strengthened pack of Nords should need her. But the desperation of Kodlak’s response was undeniable. She decided to bide her time and see where this journey took her.

“Auriane, you have pleased this old man.” Kodlak put a hand over her own and smiled. “Tomorrow, you will meet with Vilkas. He will give you some logistics and background information.”

“Vilkas. That is Farkas’ brother, correct?” Auriane swallowed hard.

“Yes, twin brother in fact. They have lived at Jorrvaskr since they were pups. Strong boys, honorable and fierce warriors.” Auriane nodded as she followed Kodlak back to the hall.

She made her farewells to Kodlak and Aela. She looked fleetingly around the room for signs of Farkas, but to no avail. She was not surprised by his absence, but at how his absence affected her. 

As she left Jorrvaskr, walking back to her uncle’s shop, her thoughts flooded with all that had happened, but mainly about Farkas. What was this draw she felt to this Nord? Her normally keen senses were dulled by the thought of his warm skin and blue eyes; as she walked, she did not feel Farkas’ eyes upon her, quietly following her, seeing her safely to her uncle’s door. As she closed the door behind her, Farkas could smell the scent of warm spices on the wind.

“Auriane.” He whispered to no one.


	2. The Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little longer with some more exposition, but I hope you find that it serves the plot.  
> Happy reading :)

The smell of warm spices and earthy meats filtered through the general goods store. Auriane had woken extra early that morning and worked on the stew as a gesture for her uncle. She had prepped and cut and cooked for over an hour and now the fruits of her labors were wafting headily through the place. Back up in her loft-room, she began changing for her trip to Jorrvaskr. Auriane put on her comfortable caramel-colored leather leggings and black high boots. She wore her breastwrap and slipped a linen, forest-green tunic over her head. The tunic made a V-shape near her neck and was outlined in golden stitching. Auriane winced at the embellishment, but nothing could be done. She didn’t own many clothes that weren’t dresses and skirts as formal attire was requisite as a member of the Chorrol Court and House Motierre. However, now in Skyrim, Auriane happily made a note to expand her vestiture to more practical wear. She braided her long hair and fastened it into a low bun to keep it out of her face. Inevitably, a few errand strands fell. Tucking them behind her ear, she headed downstairs.

Her uncle was still on the sales floor in the main room. Auriane put on an apron and stirred the cooking pot, smiling at her efforts. With a tidy tap, the large ladle was clean of the thick stew and she set it aside. Moving over to the table, she carved a thick slice of the bread that she had purchased fresh that morning from the Jarl’s kitchens. She raised it to her nose.

“You know,” she muttered aloud, peering disappointedly at the loaf, “I dare say I’ll have to bake my own bread as well.” Shrugging, she set the bread aside and stirred the fresh butter.

“Auriane,” her uncle called from behind his counter in the main room, “that smells incredible. I may actually shut the shop today to have lunch.” 

“Well, get your closing sign, because it is ready. Come on in. I have some fresh bread and butter for you as well.” She called.

Belethor entered the back room of his store and stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.

“You know, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, but I’m sure glad you did.” He said, grinning. Auriane hadn’t seen her uncle this carefree since her arrival.

“Oh, it was nothing.” Auriane said. “Just a bit of work and the stew tends itself. Nothing like a good warm meal to set you right. Come, sit down.” She gestured to one of the thatched seats. Belethor sat and Auriane ladled a hearty portion into a wooden bowl. Immediately, he fell upon the stew and made a closed-lip moan.

“By the gods, old and new, this is good.” His mouth greedily sought another spoonful. “I was hoping it was as good as it smelled.”

“Why thank you, dear uncle.” Auriane said with a mock bow. She placed some bread in his bowl. “This is fresh, but I think it’s a little airy. I’ll bake a heartier loaf for next time. Goes better with the stew.” She poured spiced mead into her uncle’s cup and joined him at the table.

“Next time? I’ve died and gone to the Far Shores.” He said, shoveling the stew into his mouth. “Say, where did you learn to make all this? I would have thought in that fancy castle you wouldn’t have had to lift a finger to pat your own bottom after the privy?” He grinned mischievously.

“Oh ha ha.” Auriane replied. “I did not live in a castle…”

“Mansion then.” Belethor good-heartedly interrupted. His spoon clicked the bottom of the bowl as he scooped another bite of stew. Auriane paused, her faced going a little red.

“Maison Motierre,” she slowly began, “is… although a large…” She trailed off. Belethor, still grinning, raised an eyebrow. “Ok, it’s a mansion,” She said after a moment. They both burst out laughing.

“Your face!” Belethor exclaimed, nearly snorting his stew. Auriane couldn’t help but laugh harder, tears coming to her eyes. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure glad you learned to cook so well. Does my Breton heart proud.” Belethor said after managing to control his laughter. Auriane wiped her eyes and smiled as they both took long drinks of their warm mead.

“It was Kastane, the house cook.” She said, taking a bite of the stew herself. “I would slip away from my dreary etiquette and deportment lessons to the kitchens. Kastane would always have a warm drink and a sweet waiting for me.” Auriane looked at the cooking fire, lost in fond memory. “After a while, she would show me how to cut the vegetables, grind spices and mix ingredients. It seemed more magic to me than anything the Court Mage could do.” She paused, taking another bite. “Mother found out that I was skipping lessons. She said I embarrassed myself." She paused again. "Kastane was nearly fired and after that, she wouldn't talk to me again. My cooking lessons ended that day." Auriane trailed off. The two ate in silence for a few moments before Belethor spoke.

“Your mother was always a bit of a cunt.” He remarked, still calmly eating his stew. There was an instant of silence and then Auriane burst out laughing again, Belethor quickly following. “No seriously!” Belethor insisted. “She was always a pain in the backside. I remember how it was in High Rock. I was the eldest, but she was like the rest of the family, so she held their favor. I was… shall I say, the black sheep.” He winked at her and they continued their meal. Auriane was glad she had made the stew for her uncle.

“There is a magic in cooking.” She thought. The jingle of the shop-door bells called from the main room. Belethor made to stand, but Auriane interrupted him.

“No uncle, you finish your meal. I’ll tend to the customer.” Belethor nodded and Auriane walked toward the door, removing the apron over her head as she stepped over the threshold. When the cloth cleared her face, she found herself facing Farkas.

“Oh.” She said, caught off guard. She could feel the color rising in her face. “Greetings … Farkas.” She enjoyed the way his name felt in her mouth.

“Greetings, Auriane.” The Nord said. The warm melody of his voice sent a lightening shock through her body. With an almost-smile, he stared at her.

Those eyes.

Auriane thought that they looked like icy pools, deep and meandering. She held her breath and imagined submerging herself in them, the chill setting her skin on fire with a white-hot heat. She breathed out slowly.

“So, what brings you to my uncle’s store?” She asked, pressing her lips together and releasing them—a nervous tick from childhood. A tight, pained expression crossed Farkas’ face. Suddenly, Auriane became self-conscious. She silently admonished herself for getting nervous around a man she hardly knew. She used to become enraged by silly girls and boys at court, fawning over one another. She forced herself to focus.

“I have some items from a cave delve, relics, treasures.” Farkas replied, still looking uncomfortable. “Skjor figured old Belethor could take a look.” He furrowed his brow and lifted his chin slightly.

“I see. Well, I’m sure you could leave them here and my uncle could examine them later that way you don’t have to wait…” Her last words trailed off. Farkas had turned his head away from her. She watched as he looked back at her and to his side. He then moved to look at the back room, his head tilted slightly to the side and his mouth slightly open.

“Is everything ok?” Auriane asked hesitantly.

“What in Mundus is that amazing smell?” Farkas asked, still not looking at her. She had to think for a moment to register what he was talking about.

“Oh, the stew!” She responded. Recognition swept over Farkas’ face and he nodded, meeting her eyes. Auriane felt a warm swell of pride wash over her. She motioned for him to follow her into the back room. Belethor, still hunched over his bowl, turned his head sideways, craning his neck to look up at the Nord.

“Here, come sit down.” Auriane directed Farkas to a chair.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He said.

“No, nothing of the sort. Please, sit.” Auriane took him by the arm and guided him to a chair. She felt the warmth of his body against her own and she was sorry to release him.

Farkas sat down slowly. Auriane readied a bowl of the stew and placed it before him. Without a word, he tucked into it. After his lips closed on the first spoonful, he closed his eyes and made a low sigh of satisfaction. Auriane chuckled and pulled another cup off the wallboard. She filled it with the spiced mead and placed it before Farkas. She then pulled a stool up to the table and joined them. The three sat quietly for a time, enjoying their meal. Farkas finally put down his spoon and took a long drink from his cup.

“Mmm. What’s this?” He asked.

“That’s _my_ spiced mead.” Belethor said, not looking up.

“Uncle.” Auriane softly admonished. She stood and filled both their glasses with the warm drink. “There’s plenty to go around. Besides, a Breton is nothing if he’s not a good host.” She said, reciting one of the many sayings her nurse taught her.

“And a good host never lets a cup fall empty.” Belethor eventually responded. Auriane could detect an almost wistful tone to his voice. “Yes niece. I have forgotten many of the old ways.” He looked to her, a fond twinkle in his eye. He looked back to Farkas. “Please, drink and be merry my friend.” He said, raising a glass. Farkas too raised his glass.

“And may good fortune always find your door.” The Nord offered, touching his cup with the Breton’s. They continued eating and Auriane whispered a silent prayer of gratitude.

Although Belethor had a head start, Farkas finished his meal first. He licked his lips, and looked at his bowl, but didn’t say anything. Auriane instinctively knew that he wanted more but wouldn’t ask. There was a gentleness about him that puzzled and intrigued her. She stood and took the bowl to refill it from the cooking pot.

“You don’t have to…” Farkas began, but Auriane and Belethor insisted he have a second helping. The ring of the shop-door bells sounded again and Belethor left his chair to see to the customer, leaving Auriane and Farkas alone.

As Auriane moved about getting the stew and bread, Farkas’ eyes never left her. When she went to set the bowl upon the table before him, he suddenly reached out to take it from her, his fingers overlapping her own. Her breath caught in her chest. As she removed her hand, her fingers unweaving from his, he never broke his gaze. Before her last finger was free, she could feel one of his fingers move ever so slightly to catch hers as it passed. It was all the matter of a moment, but it fell like all of Aetherius pressed into a blink. Auriane thought something changed about his eyes; they were still the same, but they felt different. She stood before him, locked in place. He still held the bowl before him. The sound of Belethor’s laugh from the next room broke the spell. Auriane blinked and shook her head. Clearing her throat, she smiled uncomfortably.

“Thank you.” Farkas said, still looking at her, his eyes once again familiar. Auriane was certain it had just been the firelight. She sat down on the stool and Farkas turned to his stew. “This is really good.” He mumbled between mouthfuls.

“I’m glad you like it.” Auriane said, pressing her lips again. They passed the next moments in pleasant silence, until Belethor entered the room.

“Auriane? I am sorry to ask this of you, but I owe Danica at the Temple a basket of these vegetables and I have customers out here, plus I need to look over the goods for the Companions. Could you take these to her? I have the cart out back so you don’t have to carry it.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to.” She replied, standing up. “Actually, I should be heading off to Jorrvaskr anyway.”

“We won’t need the cart.” Farkas said, standing up as well. “I can come back for the goods.” He said to Belethor. Turning to Auriane, he said, “I’ll accompany you to the Temple and Jorrvaskr.” He hefted the heavy basket onto one shoulder with ease.

“Say,” Belethor started. “You could be very useful. If you want to earn some extra money, I could use your brawny services.” He leaned in toward Auriane and whispered, “Although, he might eat me out of house and home …” She shook her head, smiling.

Auriane exited the store first, holding the door for Farkas. The two made their way slowly through the market and to the steps leading toward the temple. The air was warm, but already Auriane detected the faintest cooling breeze.

“Summer doesn’t last long in Skyrim, does it?” She asked.

“Nah, not compared to other places.” Farkas replied, walking with ease at her side. “Although, there are longer summers in the south and midlands, I don’t think they get a summer in Winterhold.” He remarked as they continued on.

“You like Whiterun?” He asked her after a moment. “Must be different where you come from.”

“I like it.” She responded. “It is different, but that’s exactly what I like about it.” Auriane smiled. She looked over to Farkas, catching his glance. He looked pained again.

They delivered the basket to the Temple and made their way to Jorrvaskr, neither speaking. Farkas hefted the main door open and allowed her to pass first. When she turned around, she saw that he had shut the door behind her, but had not entered with her. Auriane shrugged, surprised at her feelings of disappointment. Walking further into the Hall, she was eventually directed to the courtyard.

Auriane made her way through the newer recruits eating and arguing on the upper level and then down the steps to the sparing pit. There was a large Nord with his back to her, attending to a target. For a moment she thought it was Farkas—they had the same build. But she quickly realized this Nord had shorter hair and wore an unfamiliar armor. As she approached, he turned to look at her.

“So you are the one Kodlak wants me to look over.” He folded his arms and stared at her. He had the same ice-blue eyes, but there was a different fire burning.

“You must be Vilkas.” She said.

“I’ve learned to trust Kodlak, but looking at you, I have to wonder if the old man isn't losing it." He said, walking away from the target and toward a weapons rack. “No matter. Let’s test your sword hand.”

“Oh, I’m not very good with a sword.” She replied sheepishly. Murmurs and chuckles came from the recruits.

“Seriously?” Vilkas asked incredulously. “So what good are you? Your Breton legs stand you barely taller than a barrel and you are too pretty to fight.” He eyed her hard, looking her up and down. “You look more like you belong in a tavern skirt dancing at the Bannered Mare, or maybe warming a big Nord’s bed.” This elicited boisterous laughter and cat-calls from the recruits. Auriane's eyes darkened.

“I’m not here to listen to the unimaginative fantasies of a man-boy whose snowberries haven’t descended.” She said, cutting him a glare. “I’m here because Kodlak asked me to and I honor my word.” She could hear the recruits grow quiet.

“Is that so?” Vilkas asked and began to pace around her, like a wild animal. Auriane instinctively took a step back and began to counter his moves. “Everyone is so confident when they start.” He continued. “I have always enjoyed that sweet, broken expression on their face when they realize they’re less than nothing.” He lunged at her, low and quick, almost catching her. She leapt out of his way, tucking her legs under her. She landed softly and readied herself for his next pass. He came at her again, this time ready to brawl. She ducked his first punch and lunged to the side, avoiding his grasp. She kept her breath measured and willed her heart to beat evenly. She felt an alert calmness rise. When he made a second attempt to grab her she ducked again and redirected his force to the side, sending him staggering. She immediately resumed a low, ready stance. A couple of the recruits snickered. Vilkas’ face grew red.

“Hmm…” He began, standing up fully. “I see the Breton knows how to dance. How nice.” He said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Did they teach you that at some how-to-catch-a-husband dancing school in High Rock?” He walked over to the weapon rack. He took two swords, tossing one to her. She barely caught it by the hilt. She settled into a low defensive position, but she was uneasy. She had never trained thoroughly with a blade. He came at her fiercely, an obvious expert with the long sword. Auriane knew she could not take a direct blow from him; he was far too strong and tall. As he struck, she deflected his attack, once again redirecting his energy laterally away from her. In two passes, Vilkas has learned her method. In one swift move, he cornered her against the wall, restricting her range of motion.

Auriane panted. She looked around, but was blocked by targets to her left and the stone wall to her back and curving to her right. She attempted to duck, thinking she could escape underneath him, but his next attack contacted with her shoulder, the blade ripping through her tunic and slicing her skin. She could hear gasps and cheers in the courtyard as the searing pain coursed through her shoulder in waves. Out of the corner of her eye, Auriane saw a commotion by the Hall door that led from Jorrvaskr to the courtyard, but she could not afford to glance away. Vilkas regrouped and came at her again. She was able to dodge his sword and haphazardly swung at him in the limited space. She lanced his cheek with the tip of her blade, causing him to step back. It was all the space she needed. In an instant, she scampered up onto the wall, knocking over the practice dummy. She managed to get a few paces away from him, moving toward the second weapons rack. She could feel the blood flowing from her wound down her arm, but the adrenaline flowing through her veins kept her alert. She felt a flood of fear well up, but forced herself to clear her mind and remain calm.

“Well little squirrel, what are you doing up there?” Vilkas called after her, wiping a ribbon of blood from his face with his hand. Laughter flooded the courtyard.

“I’m trying to not get skewered.” She called back, measuring her breath.

“You are a ridiculous excuse for a recruit. Thank you for wasting my time.” He said, shaking his head and dropping his sword disgustedly to the ground. He turned his back to her and walked over to one of the tables, where one of the recruits handed him a wooden tanker of mead. As he raised it out before him to rally the cheers from the group, a stealth arrow from behind him pierced the mug squarely in the center. Vilkas’ eyes widened and he turned around, tankard still in hand.

Auriane, squatting on the wall was armed with a bow and arrows recently acquired from the weapons rack below.

“As I said, I’m not very good with a sword.” Auriane said, reaching into the quiver and grabbing another bow.

“Hmm.” Vilkas murmered, a smile crept onto his face. “Lucky shot.” In an instant, Auriane had armed the bow and released it, sending another precision shot into the wooden tankard. This arrow, however, pierced deeply. A stream of mead poured out onto Vilkas’ steel boots. A hush fell over the courtyard. Vilkas held the mug away from him, examining the two arrows logged firmly. He looked back to Auriane, still crouched on the wall, a fire burning brightly in her golden eyes.

“You stay.” Vilkas said with a full grin.

His words broke the spell of silence and, once again, the recruits began murmuring and talking amongst themselves. Vilkas put the tankard down and walked over to Auriane, offering a hand.

“I promise I won’t skewer you, little squirrel.” He said with a chuckle. She took his hand and as she began to lower herself, he grabbed her by the waist with his other hand, fully supporting her weight. He placed her on the ground before him and looked down at her.

“I heard about the giant.” He said, removing his hands slowly. “Aela was very impressed.” Auriane furrowed her brow as he continued to look at her.

“I am honored that she would think so.” She stepped around him and heading back to Jorrvaskr. Vilkas followed her.

“I saw you at the feast last night. I was about to come over and congratulate you but you were…occupied.” He said, walking beside her.

“Hmm.” Auriane said, nodding. She sped up her pace, but he kept up with her easily.

“Look,” Vilkas began, after a moment, “I hope you aren’t upset…” Auriane stopped short.

“No. You were doing your job.” Auriane said, looking at him. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I understand you have to put people through their paces.” She took a step closer, narrowing her eyes and burning a hole through him with the ferocity of her glare. “You can call me out for lack of talent, skill or training. You can think what you will about me. But don’t ever, ever dismiss me as some joke because of my sex or because of my race. I won’t stand for it and it’s beneath you.” She punctuated her words as she clenched her fists. She realized then that her breath had caught in her throat and she slowly exhaled, forcing herself to regain her calm. “Understood?” She asked, after a moment.

“Yes, completely.” Vilkas said, his brow softening. “I, I was wrong to make such remarks.” He looked down at his feet. “I…it’s not an excuse, but…I’ve been called impulsive, a hot-head.” He looked back at her and extended his hand. “I hope we can begin again.” Auriane found only sincerity in his face. She nodded and took his hand, shaking it.

“Of course.” She responded.

\----------

When they had reached Jorrvaskr, Farkas had slipped away from Auriane, retreating to his favorite lookout post on the side of the Hall. He wasn’t sure why he just left her, but he felt that he couldn’t breathe properly around her and he needed air. As he stood, looking out over the sweeping vistas of the Whiterun Hold, he heard his brother calling out one of the new recruits. He turned and walked over to the courtyard. He saw Auriane facing Vilkas in the training pit. Farkas leaned against the back wall of Jorrvaskr, out of view. Vilkas was taunting her, and trying to grapple with her, but she was holding her own. Farkas smiled. He loved that she was tough. But when Vilkas cornered her with the sword and blood poured from her shoulder, Farkas charged from his spot, only to be solidly stopped by Aela.

“Leave it Farkas. She has to be tested.” Farkas growled and glared at her. He was practically seething. He looked back and saw that Auriane had evaded Vilkas and was on the wall. Vilkas was wiping blood off his face. Farkas breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders.

“How long has it been Farkas? Since you turned?” Aela looked at him, her head slightly tilted to the side, examining him. “It’s been too long. You need to release the blood or it builds up and you get like this.” She said casually.

“I’d rather be skinned alive.” Farkas said flatly. “I’m not an animal.” Aela sighed and walked off. The sound of an arrow whizzing through the air brought Farkas’ attention back to the training pit.

He leaned back against the wall and watched his brother turn around, astonished to find an arrow in his mead. Farkas chuckled and folded his arms. Auriane released another arrow and the sound of mead spilling onto steel and stone flooded an otherwise silent courtyard. Farkas felt a swell of pride.

The yard returned to normal and Vilkas walk over to Auriane and helped her down, his hand on her waist. Farkas felt his vision going slowly black. A quiet rage was building inside him. He saw Auriane walk toward the Hall, but she didn’t see him. Vilkas was following. They were talking and then she turned to Vilkas and said something, forcefully to him. She looked angry. Farkas grumbled under his breath and uncrossed his arms. He saw Vilkas look down and then extend a hand. Auriane took it and they shook. It was an odd thing for Vilkas to do. He would normally have made a fist and placed it over his heart when dealing with the recruits. Vilkas continued to hold her hand and he mumbled something else. Auriane smiled.

Her face brightened when she smiled, Farkas thought. Her eyes sparkled, sending a warmth coursing through him. He could taste the spices of the stew she made earlier and he could smell that earthy scent of her skin, like an Autumn harvest. He wanted to bed down and winter the world’s troubles in her arms. All his life he had only known Jorrvaskr. It was where he lived, but it wasn’t really a home. 

Home.

Not a specific place, but an idea. Something so foreign to him, but now he realized that every step he ever took led him to this moment. There was a peace in that. He wanted this and he wanted her, but his fears flooded the back of his brain and he despaired. How could he have anything with her? As she talked with Vilkas, he saw her lips press together. He nearly whimpered as it sent urges through him he could not satisfy. He wanted to explode, to scream, to rage. Instead, he managed to control the inner turmoil that savaged his heart. He cleared his throat and walked toward them. 

\----------

“And here is Farkas. He will take you to get your armor.” Vilkas said, looking at his brother. “I take it you two know one another?” He asked, raising a knowing eyebrow. He turned to Auriane. “I meant what I said.” He gave her a nod and then walked away.

Auriane turned to Farkas. She winced as she looked at her wound.

“Hello again.” She said in discomfort. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yes, I was watching.” His brows furrowing as he looked at her. “Can you do that healy thing you did with me?” He asked, putting his hand on her, moving her tunic aside to inspect the wound.

“I will later. I want to remember how bad this hurts so I don’t let it happen again.” She said, setting her jaw square.

Farkas nodded, but with concern. He covered her bare shoulder with the flap of her tunic, his finger lingering on her skin a little longer than necessary. His touch, so foreign and yet familiar, soothed her. She felt her guard drop and gave in to the lull washing over her. All of a sudden, the adrenaline emptied from her body, sending her legs wobbling. She felt her head go light and she reached out, grasping Farkas’ arm to steady herself. 

“Woah. Careful.” He said softly, moving forward to support her with his other arm. “Maybe you should skip the grand gesture and just heal yourself.”

“I will…I, I just need to rest.” She whispered.

“C’mon.” He said, ready to lift her up and carry her.

“Oh no. By Akatosh, don’t. Just let me lean against you a little.” Farkas complied, against his better judgment as he led her into Jorrvaskr.

They made their way downstairs, where Kodlak had taken her the day before. The light was low, and the air was cool. The walls were stone and there were no windows. Ancient plaques and weapons lined the walls. As they walked slowly, Auriane wondered about the warriors and their stories that echoed down the halls to the ever-after and beyond. Farkas led her to a smaller corridor on the right. He motioned to a door on the left. 

“Here, you can get cleaned up and rest. This is where I sleep.” He left her by the doorway and entered the dark room—she lost his figure in the blackness. A small flicker of light appeared, as Farkas lit a candle.

“It’s okay.” He said, the honey-grumble of his voice now close to her, reassuring her. He once again put his arm around her and helped her into the room.

He situated her on a wooden chair by a wash basin. She still held the tunic closed over her wound. Farkas turned away and opened cabinets and drawers, retrieving soap and clean linens. He set them down beside her. She looked up at him, again so close.

“Thank you, Farkas.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it punctuated the silence. She let go of the tunic and it slipped from her shoulder like a petal falling from the Gildergreen.

Farkas cleared his throat and stooped next to her. She placed her hand over her shoulder and a golden-white glow danced around her fingertips. The light illuminated Farkas’ face as he watched her intently. Slowly, but steadily she emitted the healing energy. The wound was deep, but she was able to concentrate enough to close the worst of it. She groaned and her hand dropped in completely exhaustion.

“I…I can’t do anymore right now.” She mumbled.

“It’s ok. I can take care of the rest.” He said gently. He lifted her tunic over her head, leaving her in her pants and breastwrap. He gently bathed the blood away from her skin, cleaning the now-superficial wound. He thoroughly patted it dry and packed the wound with a fragrant herb. He then bound it firmly with a long strip of soft linen. The pressure felt good on the wound. Standing, he placed a large shirt over her head and helped her arms through the sleeves. One of his clean shirts, she thought.

Farkas moved to another part of the room and lit another candle. She heard him rummaging around in one of the cabinets, but Auriane was too tired to lift her head.

“Here, drink this.” He said, suddenly close to her again. He helped her sit forward and brought a cup close to her lips. He held it as she awkwardly sipped. The wine tasted good. She smiled weakly.

“I thought you might like that.” He said. “It’s from Colovia, the good stuff.” He then tore a small piece of bread and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth and took it from him, like a broken bird. She hated this weakness, but she needed the sustenance and there was something about him—something that made her feel excited and at ease all at once.

He continued to feed her bread and some cheese, along with sips of wine until she felt like she regained her strength. He then helped her stand and slowly walked her over to his bed. When she protested, he insisted. 

“You need to rest Auriane.” She looked at him and knew he was right. Farkas helped her under the blankets and then covered her, gently maneuvering around her shoulder. “I’ll let you sleep now.” He said, walking over to the door.

“No,” she started, “please sit with me.” For some reason, unknown to her, the thought of being away from him was more than she could bear at the moment.

“Alright.” He replied, shutting the door. On his way back over to her, he picked up the wooden chair and set it beside the bed. Sitting down, he looked at her. Her eyes were languid, but still open. He grabbed the lute by the fireplace and began plucking a soft tune. To Auriane, it sounded light and fluid, like water. 

“That’s nice, Farkas.” She purred, settling deeper into the blankets. The soft flannels had been steeped in the mossy heat of his skin, night after night.

He didn’t say anything, but continued to play. She dozed off peacefully.

\---------

She awoke to the soft sounds of the lute still playing.

"How long was I asleep?" She asked.

"Not long." He responded, looking at her for a moment. “How you feeling?” 

“Much better.” She replied, her eyes clear and bright. They stayed like that for a time—Auriane in his bed and Farkas playing.

“Where did you learn to shoot an arrow like that?” He finally asked, as though the question had been on his mind for some time. Auriane inhaled—she wasn’t sure where to begin. 

“Home.” She said. She knew he wanted and deserved more.

“Brother Venien.” She continued after a moment. Farkas remained silent, allowing her room to gather her words.

“When I was about eight years of age, I was exploring the wooded areas outside of Chorrol. Of course I wasn’t supposed to be by myself, but I wanted to see the faeries. My nurse always told me about such stories—faeries, demons, unicorns, magical tales. I knew my mother and father would never let me go and see. I still don’t know what made me disobey.” Auriane stopped. She looked at Farkas. He was not looking at her, but she could tell he was listening intently, still softly strumming the lute. She continued.

“I had been out exploring for hours and dusk was falling. I had wandered much further than I thought into the Great Forest and lost my markings to find my way home. I didn’t find faeries that day, but I did find a demon.” She stopped again, gathering the blankets closer.  

“I didn’t hear it at first, but I knew I was being watched. I could feel my skin prickle and my senses sharpen. Then I heard a low growl. I turned and locked eyes with the largest wolf I had every seen. I was always told that wolves traveled in packs and wouldn’t really attack people unless they were threatened. But this wolf, a dire wolf, was alone and he was hunting me.” Auriane sat up, the candlelight softly illuminating her troubled face. 

“It was the first time I thought I was going to die. I mean, I was eight, what did I know of death? But, I had the sense that I was facing my end. I was scared, paralyzed. I wanted to run, but my heart was pounding in my ears and my breath was short and shallow. I could feel myself brimming with terror.” She swallowed hard and looked at Farkas. He had stopped playing the lute and was facing her directly, watching her.

“I just stood there. Incapable of moving and the wolf lunged at me. He caught my forearm in his jaws and ripped hard—I can still feel the pressure and the pain.” She subconsciously rubbed her arm. “It drug me to the ground. I remember screaming and crying.” She stopped again, exhaling slowly.

“Then I heard the wolf whelp and whine, releasing my arm. An arrow was lodged in its back. Before I knew what was going on, another arrow was launched through the beast’s eye, killing it instantly. As it lay before me, dead, I could not control my breathing. I was still so terrified, blood streaming from my arm, my skin ripped and dangling from my body. I could feel myself passing out and my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst through my chest.” Auriane absently brought her hand to her throat. 

“Then a man in robes was crouched over me, bringing a glass bottle to my lips. He made me drink and I could feel the pain lessen, my arm already beginning to heal, but my breathing and heart were uncontrollable. He sat me up and knelt in front of me face to face. He commanded me to measure my breathing to his count. There was something so compelling about him that I had to obey. He counted to four and I breathed in. He counted to four and I breathed out. We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity on the forest floor—him kneeling and me sitting, but breathing in unison. After a while, he dried my tears and gave me a drink from his water pouch. He then took my hand and led me through the forest back to the main road. By that time it was dark, a moonless eventide. My father had half the town guard looking for me. When we approached, they must have been suspicious of the man in the robes, but when my father went to take me away, I clung to Brother Venien.” Auriane smiled tenderly. “He had saved me from the wolf, had saved my life.” Auriane undid her hair and began finger combing it slowly. 

“I’m not sure what arrangement they came to, and I have no idea how he convinced my mother, but my father hired Brother Venien to be my tutor. He stayed with us for years and I learned so many things from him—archery, acrobatics, stealth. But most importantly, I learned how to work through my fears. For some time after the attack I was petrified of wolves, dogs anything that reminded me of the dire wolf. Brother Venien taught me to calm my breath and regulate my heartbeat. He also had me incrementally face my fears by petting dogs and interacting with tamed wolves. He always said, ‘Auri, step toward your fear.’” She smiled broadly, looking down. Farkas watched her greedily, taking in every wrinkle of her brow, smile of her lips, every gesture she made. He wanted to study her and commit her to memory—know every inch of the fabric that made this beautiful creature.

 “So, now know you know my story.” She finally said, looking at him.

“I know _a_ story.” He said. “I’m sure there are many more to hear.” 

“You want to hear them all?” She asked with a chuckle.

“Yes.” He said without irony. She sighed and pressed her lips. 

“Why do I feel this way around you?” She asked. 

“What do you mean?” Farkas asked, swallowing hard.

“Like I’ve know you forever and I’m comfortable with you, but at the same time I’m exhilarated by a look or the slightest touch.” She said boldly. Farkas wanted to know what she meant, but he was confused.

“Are you making fun of me?” He finally asked. Her eyes widened and she nearly leapt from the bed.

“No! I would never.” Auriane said in desperation. She sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side. She put her hand on his arm.

“Some people don’t think I’m smart.” He said, looking down.

“Some people are jackasses.” She replied. Farkas signed deeply. Auriane touched his chin and lifted his face.

“What is it?” She asked. He looked at her and she moved her hand up to his cheek. Her hand was small and cool compared to his features; she could feel the burning in his skin. Auriane wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the woozy feeling from earlier, but she leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips pressed into his full mouth, the feeling of his stubble and beard deliciously scratching into her soft skin.

In one quick movement, Farkas jumped up, the chair flung against the wall and he picked her up by the waist, bringing her to his eye level. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him, his hands under her thighs supporting her. She gasped out with the quickness of it all. Farkas stopped to look at her, but she clasped his face with both hands and kissed him again, deeply. She moaned as her lips parted to receive his tongue, caressing her hot mouth. She moved her hands to his shoulders and arms, groping them encouragingly. He moaned softly and buried his face in her neck, her hair gently falling around him. Her warm scent was like a drug. His lips parted and his tongue traced along her skin, ending in nibbles and bites from his hungry teeth. Her fingers dug deeper into his skin and her moans increased. Farkas could feel her hips moving slightly, the swelling in his groin dangerously increasing.

He tossed her on the bed, intent on having her. He made quick work of her leather pants and smalls as she hastily removed the tunic over her head. She was attempting to unravel her breastwrap when Farkas ripped it open, spilling her breasts free. He could now see her naked body fully for the first time. His bed, so tiny for his frame nearly swallowed her—she looked like a doll in a large bed. She sat up on her elbows, her breasts, full for her frame, arching out toward him, the candlelight casting shadows against the glorious mounds. Her hair was wild and her mouth was parted in eager anticipation—the sight was primal, arousing him greatly.

He nearly growled as he fell on her, unceremoniously ripping off his own shirt. Immediately her hands explored his bare chest and arms, her touch felt unreal to him. His head was clouding and he was losing track of himself, he grabbed her by each wrist and held them down above her head, attacking her mouth and neck with his eager lips and teeth. He wanted to mark her, claim her. "Mine." Farkas thought. She cried out, the sound of her spurred him on. He spread her legs with his knee, rubbing his still clothed erection against her tiny sex. She gasped, tilting her pelvis to catch the motion. He could barely see straight and he began to only hear his heart beating, his blood coursing through his body. The sound of his name being called brought him back to her.

“F…Farkas, Farkas…” She called to him.

He shook his head, clearing his blinding lust and looked down at her. She was looking at him intensely. He saw a slight fear in her eyes. He immediately released her wrists. Even in the dim light, the bruising was visible. Marks were all over her neck and chest, even one on her right breast that he did not remember doing. He had been so taken with his want of her. Her shoulder wound had jarred open and was actively bleeding down her arm. He wanted to die, thinking that he hurt her. He could barely move, paralyzed with guilt and disgust.

Her hands now free, she cupped his face. His eyes filled with tears of shame. She reached up and kissed him. He tried to push her away, sitting back on his knees away from her, but she would not be dissuaded. She knelt on the bed, facing him and kissed each closed eye, capturing his tears with her lips, stroking his hair.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She reassured him. “But where did you go? It was like you disappeared and a wildness took hold of you.” Even as she said this, she moved her body closer to him. Farkas could hardly believe she was still physically responding to him. Her nipples brushed his bare chest, sending a shock wave right to his lower stomach. He looked into her eyes and could still see she wanted him, her hips moving against him. But he didn’t trust himself. He couldn't. She kissed him, but he remained motionless. Auriane recoiled, hurt by his caution. Farkas exhaled slowly.

“Lay back.” He gently said. She complied, her legs before him. He spread her thighs and tilted her pelvis up, gaining full access to her. He could see her glistening, even with the weak candlelight. Farkas shivered. His mouth connected with her fleshy cleft, humid and hot. Her savory essence met his lips and he could feel the cloud taking over his mind, her salty-sweetness like an intoxicant. He breathed deeply, desperately fighting the urge to ravage her and gained control of his senses. He lapped at her wetness, looking up to her face, encouraged by her cooing and gasps. He nibbled her folds and suckled her rosy bud, making her jump. He gripped her thighs for control and continued to alternate between licking and sucking her clit, so aroused like a plump plum. When he could feel her body tensing, he slowed, wanting to draw out her pleasure. He then probed her slit with his tongue, sliding in and out of her, causing her to gush more. Like biting into a ripe fruit, the juice dribbled over his lips and down his chin. He could feel it collecting in his beard. Her taste was ambrosia to him. “No mead in Soverngarde would ever be as sweet.” He thought. Her cries were lower and longer now, the sensation deeper and burning more slowly. Farkas saw her grip her nipples and massage her breasts in rhythm with his tongue. She then slid her hands between her legs, cupping his face and looked at him. Those deep golden eyes locked on him. She bit her lower lip from the pleasure he brought her. He then returned his tongue and attention to her clit and wrung from her a roiling orgasm. She nearly came off the bed, curving her body toward him as he held her hips tightly. Her cries were loud and her breath was hard. Her body continued to shake as she grabbed the back of his head, pulling his hair and pressing him deeper between her thighs.

“Farkas, gods…” She whispered in a breathy tone, laying back. He continued to lightly lap at her dripping her sex, her hips still undulating in the aftershock of her orgasm. He moved his hands from her hips and pressed firmly on her lower stomach, eliciting low moans and a tightening of her thighs. He kissed his way from her cleft, up her stomach, around each breast, nipple, and up her neck to her waiting lips. Hesitantly, he connected with her. They kissed for several moments, her mouth weak from the strength of her climax. After a minute, her kisses grew stronger and he felt her hand move down to his groin. He jumped.

“No, no Auriane. I can’t, no.” He started, pulling back from her.

“But I want you Farkas.” She whimpered. “I need to feel you inside of me.” It took the strength of Ysgramor and his Five-Hundred to keep from granting her wish. He moaned as his cock tightened in his pants. But he saw the dried blood down her arm and her body was peppered with bruises. He would not allow another wolf to hurt her. 

“Auriane, no.” He said firmly getting up and standing next to the bed, his fists clenched tightly. “I want to… but I can’t. This was a mistake. We just can’t. I’m, I’m sorry.” He walked over to the door. “There’s a dress for you on the table by the basin. Umm, Aela can help you with your armor.” He paused at the doorway and looked back at her, his eyes like large icebergs melting. He inhaled as if to say something, but then promptly turned and left her alone in the room.

Auriane turned over, putting her hand flat on his pillow. She leaned over and drew in his scent deeply. After a time, she wiped her eyes and sat up. Whispering into the darkness, she fully healed the wound on her shoulder, but there was no magic to heal the cleft she felt in her chest. Auriane dressed quietly and left his room.


	3. The Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed posting - holidays and such. Hopefully, the postings will be more regular from now on. Thank you for reading and please feel free to comment!

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Auriane had a mind to walk out of Jorrvaskr, out of Whiterun and never return —just run until her legs gave out and she could die where she lay. She could not understand why Farkas withdrew from her like he did. Auriane ran her fingers over the bruises on each wrist, remembering the force with which he had held her.

She wasn’t in any real danger, was she?

But she remembered his heat, the smell of him so close, desperation in his face as he frantically kissed and bit over her body. There was something so feral about his behavior, so far removed from court and courtesy. It made Auriane uneasy how intuitively he manipulated her body into a state of pure, raw, unapologetic bliss. Gods, how he had touched and tasted her. She pulsed just thinking about his eyes looking up at her, as he nestled his mouth between her legs. It underscored the mediocrity of her previous sexual encounters; fumbling boys begrudging her the fury she craved to sate their own wants, indifferent to her desires. Farkas had been rough, crazed even, but came back to her when she called. She had wanted him so badly, wanted to take him inside, make him feel how he had made her feel, but he had practically recoiled from her touch. She grimaced slightly as she touched the delicate blue and green marks already forming on her skin.

 _Was_ she in danger?

Auriane recalled the look in his eye when she first kissed him. He seemed possessed, something wild and unknown taking control. She wondered if that was just how Nords were in bed. But even though she had never bedded a Nord before, she knew it was something else. He also seemed tortured. She recalled the first night at the feast. What was it that he had said? “Things I could never understand?” She was puzzled by his words and behavior, but a nagging self-doubt grew. Why did he not want to get close to her? Maybe he had wanted to bed her, but thought the better of it. Nords are tribal. Maybe it was a fleeting, fetishistic urge that he could not allow himself to indulge. She was an outsider. But she couldn’t help thinking that there was something more.

“Maybe you want it to be more.” Auriane thought to herself.

Yes, she wanted to run, but she knew that was not an option. Auriane needed to see things through for her parents and for herself. And then there was Kodlak, to whom she felt inextricably duty-bound. Perhaps Farkas was too much of a distraction. Surely such intensity that sparked from nothing and raged hot would rapidly consume itself and dissolve into nothing, leaving as quickly as it arose. Although wise for her years, she was still young, as she hated to remind herself. Perhaps this was a bit of folly, a foolish, awkward thing that would pass between them.

She still wanted him, but she steeled herself against her desires, resolute in her purpose. Auriane walked the length of the dark underhall of Jorrvaskr, finding no solace. She had never felt so alone. 

Climbing the stairs, Auriane entered the main hall where the large central fire burned at its modest day-time height. She saw Aela and began to walk over to her, not realizing until she cleared the view of a pillar that Aela was talking with Vilkas. Auriane stopped short when she saw him, but Vilkas looked over at her and suddenly stopped his conversation mid-sentence. He walked briskly to her and grabbed her by the hand.

“I didn’t do that.” He said in disbelief, looking at the marks on her arm so intensely. He then looked into her eyes. “What happened?” He was staring at her hard, a slight growl in his voice.

“It’s nothing.” She responded, overwhelmed by his attention. She attempted to pull her arm away, but he would not relent.

“Your wrists, your neck,” he began, pulling the collar of her dress back to reveal her neck and collarbone, “were these marks here before we fought?” There was genuine concern in his voice. 

“Y…yes. Really, it’s nothing. Bretons bruise easily.” Auriane endured his examination, his face close to her own, looking at the bite marks along her jaw.

“But you weren’t gone that long. I was with you and then afterward, Farkas…” Vilkas trailed off, suddenly looking up at her, his face inches from her own, his fingers still on her collarbone. She could feel the warmth from his body and his eyes, like Farkas, were intense and searching. He leaned in toward her and breathed in.

“Wait, did he just _smell_ me?” Auriane thought. Vilkas slowly withdrew his hand from her and leaned back. Aela interrupted.

“Vilkas, she’s fine. Now leave us. Auriane and I need to talk—in private.” Vilkas looked at Aela, then back to Auriane.

“Hmm.” He remarked as he walked away, looking once over his shoulder back at the Breton. When they were alone, Aela motioned for Auriane to sit down.

“Those aren’t marks from the training, are they?” Aela asked her.

“N…no.” Auriane hesitantly responded. She could feel the flame rising to her cheeks. Aela nodded and breathed deeply.

“And were you hurt? Against your will?” Aela asked with a serious tone.

“Oh no!” She responded forcefully. The idea that Farkas would have willfully hurt her was practically offensive. Auriane then sighed and closed her eyes. How could she even begin to unravel what had happened. The concern left Aela’s face.

“And you don't want to talk about it, right?” Aela asked. 

“No. There’s nothing to talk about. I am fine, truly.” Auriane stated. Aela watched her for a moment and then shook her head.

“Those boys are so foolish,” she started, "if only he would stop avoiding it and just give in…” Aela stopped short and smiled. “You know, I think it’s time for mead.” She reached over the table, grabbed a large pitcher and poured them both a glass.

“Aela,” Auriane began after taking a long draught, “I want to be here, to help, but I’m not sure what good I can do.” It felt good to speak openly. “I’m not a Companion, I can’t fight with a sword, I don’t understand Nord culture and I just don’t know how I can help if I’m useless as a warrior.” She sighed, sitting back in her chair.

“Hmm.” Aela remarked, sitting thoughtfully for a moment. “What do you think makes a good warrior?”

“Well, certainly being able to fight helps.” Auriane quipped.

“True. But isn’t it just as important to know when not to fight?” Aela countered. Auriane paused for a moment.

“Yes, but… well, I suppose I can certainly master the ‘not fighting’ part.”

“Look, the lass I saw run toward the giant and shoot an arrow straight through its eye wasn’t doing a lot of ‘not fighting.’” Aela grinned. Auriane smiled and looked down. 

“Well that was different.”

“How?” Aela questioned.

“I just reacted. Raldi had just been killed and his bow was right in front of me. But what if it had been a sword? I’m just not warrior material.”

“But it was precisely that reaction that lays the foundation.” Aela explained. “You have it in you kid. You have good instincts and some serious skill with a bow.” 

“But I cant fight with a sword. Vilkas said…” 

“Oh who cares what Vilkas said?” Aela retorted, slamming her mug down. “He’s one of the fiercest fighters I’ve ever known, but he can be as thick as a mammoth’s hide. I would rather you had my back with your bow than an army of hot-heads with their swords.” 

“So, I can use a bow then? Auriane asked.

“Of course!” Aela thundered. “I favor the bow myself, although it pains me to say that I believe your skill surpasses my own.” She raised a brow. “You should also train in other weapons so you know what to do if you get into a tight situation. It benefits you to know how to fight in different ways, but always play to your strengths.” Auriane nodded in relief.

“Thanks. That makes me feel better. I thought I needed to swing a long sword and grow two feet in height.” She joked, sipping from her mug.

“Ha!” exclaimed Aela. “Don’t pay any attention to Vilkas. He talks a big talk, but he’s more sensitive than a skeever with rockjoint. You held your own against him just fine and he respects that, although he’ll never let on that he does.”

“You saw us today? In the training pit?” Auriane asked.

“Oh yeah, you gave him a real run for his septims. Probably the best testing I’ve seen in a while. But when he had you cornered, you got lucky. You used it to your advantage, but you don’t want to rely on luck. That’s why you should cross-train in other weapons.” Aela grabbed a hunk of bread and took a bite. “Ysmir’s beard, when he sliced you good, I thought Farkas was going to rampage the training pit and throttle him.”

“What?” Auriane asked, sitting forward.

“I had to stop him from charging in. He was acting like a stupid, love-sick whelp.” Aela grinned as Auriane turned a deep red. “Come now, it is obvious that you both are smitten with the other. Why deny it?” Aela asked.

“I… I’m not sure what you mean…”

“Look, I’ll clue you in. They don’t call me ‘The Huntress’ for nothing. I could smell Farkas all over you the moment you emerged from downstairs. I could also smell that you were, hmm, how shall I say it, _stimulated_ by the activity?”

“Oh gods…” Auriane moaned as she slumped down in her seat. Was that why Vilkas had smelled her? She wanted to crawl under the table and let the floor swallow her up in her embarrassment.

“No, no, don’t be like that. First thing to learn about us Nords is that we have no shame when it comes to rutting.”

“ _Rutting_?” Auriane asked her eyebrows raised.

“Oh, what do you call it? Rutting? Tupping, fretting, meat’n paunches, skewering the quim…”

“Ok, ok…” Auriane interrupted in a hissed whisper. She could feel herself breaking into a sweat. She looked around nervously. Aela laughed out loud.

“Oh, you are too funny new-blood!” She reached over and slapped Auriane’s thigh and then refilled their mugs with more mead. “When you’re facing down death, a little thing like ‘creamin’ the dragonlily’ is nothing to get all red over.”

Seeking to change the subject immediately, Auriane cleared her throat and spoke.

“Um, so why did you join the Companions, Aela?”

“Changing the discussion, eh?” Aela winked. “Alright, I'll bite. Well, you see my mother was a Companion, as was her mother and all the women in my family, back to Hrotti Blackblade.” Aela leaned back in the chair, a wistful look on her face. “I stayed with my father in the woods until I was old enough for my Trial. We hunted everything there was to hunt. There’s no better training. Ma didn’t live long enough to see me join, but everyday, I fight to honor her and all my Shield-Sisters through time.”

“Gods, that’s incredible.” Auriane responded. She looked at the warrior with deep admiration. She had never met someone like Aela before. “How did you know that you wanted to follow your fore-mothers? Did you ever feel like you wanted something different for yourself?”

“Never. This is this only life I ever want for myself.” Aela smiled, raised her mug and drank. Auriane nodded thoughtfully.

“You know, I envy your surety of purpose. It’s like you have a compass that never fails you. There must be such a peace in that, knowing where and how you belong.” A short silence fell between the two women.

“What about you new-blood? Where do you belong?” Aela asked. Auriane gave an uncomfortable smile.

“Truthfully? I don’t know.” Auriane sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I always felt out of step back home. And now that I’m here, I feel excited and happy in ways I’ve never known. But I also feel lost and like there’s a giant chasm between where I am and where I want to be.” Aela nodded knowingly. 

“You’ll fight to find you’re way Breton.” She said reassuringly. “Kodlak senses something in you. Trust that. And trust yourself.”

“Thank you Aela. I really can’t tell you how much I needed to talk with someone.” Auriane absentmindedly rubbed her bruised left wrist. Aela watched her for a moment and then spoke.

“Well look, if you don’t want to talk about Farkas, I understand, but…”

“Thank you, but there is nothing to talk about.”

“Well, he’s a good lad. You’ve chosen well.” The color drained from Auriane’s face.

“Anything that may have begun was a mistake not to be repeated.” She responded. Aela tilted her head and looked at Auriane in a puzzled manner.

“I don’t understand. You two…”

“No, he made it clear that proceeding would be a mistake and I…I respect that. I agree with him. It’s too much of a distraction.” Auriane looked down and breathed deeply, frantic to keep her composure.

“I see.” Aela said. She paused. “Well, don’t judge him too harshly now, you may reconsider.”

“Thank you Aela, but there really is nothing there. Just a foolish mistake.” 

“Silly, stupid boys.” Aela muttered. The Nord then took a long drink from her mug, emptying its contents. “Ok then new-blood. Let’s get you to the Skyforge. Old Eorland will fit you for your armor. Then Kodlak will be wanting a word with you.” Auriane looked up, grateful for the change in subject. Aela smiled and stood, motioning for Auriane to follow her.

\----------

After leaving Auriane in his room, Farkas had to catch his breath in the small hallway that led to the underhall. He balled his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned snow white. He wanted to run back into the room and just melt into her. He already missed the warmth of her presence, but he didn't trust himself. He licked his lips—he could still taste her, which set him panting. A soft whine started in his throat and he knocked the back of his head against the stone wall, willing himself to calm down.

Farkas had wanted his first encounter with Auriane to be different. He wanted to be back in that field where he first saw her, the sun warming them, the scent of honey and lavender surrounding them, while he slowly explored her body. He wanted to gently run his fingers through her hair as he kissed her, catching her soft moans with his lips. He wanted to trace the length of her body with his fingers, finding all her secret places, softly meandering her landscape all afternoon. Instead, he had fallen on her like an animal, nearly tearing her apart. He could sense that she had wanted him, even after had been so violent with her. But the small hope was dashed when he remembered the blood, the bruises and the look of fear in her eyes. He swallowed hard.

He was devastated that he had hurt her, but there was an immeasurable sadness in his realization of the inevitable—that he could never be with her. Not like that. He thought that he could control the blood, keep it at a safe distance. After all, he had never acted this way before when bedding a woman. But he should have known that there was something different about Auriane. He was pulled to her in a way he had never experienced with anyone before. He knew it wasn’t just the blood or blind lust stirring him. It was the way those golden eyes looked at him. It was the way his body buzzed when she was near. It was the calm feeling he had when he sat by her Uncle’s hearth, eating the meal she had made. It was the way the heat of her skin was seared into the memory of his fingertips. It was in the way he could see a future for himself, one he had never dared to before. Farkas sighed.

He thought about earlier when she was with Vilkas in the training pit. He remembered how angry he felt when his brother hurt her, but he also remembered how covetous he felt when he watched Vilkas help her down from the wall. Vilkas’ hands around her waist and the way she smiled when his clever brother spoke to her. He growled when he thought of Vilkas taking her hand in his own. The idea of anyone else with her enraged him. He wanted her for himself. He knew it was ridiculous. He barely knew her, but when he was with her, time compressed and expanded in ways that defied reason. But who was he to lay such a claim to her? Some ice-brained ox with nothing to show for his life but a body full of scars and a few septims saved.

He had been foolish, reckless in bringing her to his room, to his bed. He remembered how he fought to keep control all afternoon, but when she had looked at him, cupped his face and kissed him in his bedroom, his mind clouded over and he could think of nothing but possessing her. He had wanted to take her with a deep, slow sweetness, but he was enthralled by the blood and kept losing himself in the fury. Farkas smirked.

“You didn’t lose yourself, you idiot.” He whispered. Try as he might to dissociate himself from the blood, they were one in the same. He had been lying to himself that there was any separation or control that could be had. 

“I’m just a fucking animal.” He seethed. Hot tears came to his eyes. He wanted to scream, grieving the loss of her, but he had made up his mind. He would rather kill the beast within— kill himself—than hurt her again.

Suddenly, he heard her stirring in the room and he bolted down the underhall. He couldn’t face her. He moved with such distracted force that when Torvar walked in front of him, Farkas rammed into him, sending his sword-brother flying to the floor.

“Sorry.” Farkas muttered as he fled up the stairs. He slipped past Aela and Vilkas, who were talking in the main hall, and exited Jorrvaskr. 

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Returning from the Skyforge with her new armor, Auriane ducked into the recruits’ area and changed from her dress into her new leathers. It fit her like a glove. She could see why Eorlund was one of the best, although the old man had balked at making leather armor. In her pack, she put the dress with her other things, all gathered in haste when she departed Farkas’ room earlier. Auriane then made her way down the hall to Kodlak’s quarters. As she approached, she saw that he was talking with Vilkas.

"…still feel the call…" She could hear Vilkas say, but she could only hear fragments of the sentence.

"It is a burden to bear." Kodlak responded. They both looked up as Auriane approached. Villas stood. 

"Well now, sprout any new marks?" He asked awkwardly. Auriane glared at him. Kodlak regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"I sent for Auriane. I need to speak with her privately for a time. Please return in a little while." Kodak said.

"Seems like everyone needs to see Auriane privately." Vilkas said under his breath as he walked past Auriane, catching her eye. Auriane remained silent as he left. 

"Please, sit down." Kodlak gestured. "How are you settling in?" He asked her, looking down at a black feather in his hand. He clutched it and then looked up again.

"I am…alright." She hesitantly answered.

"I sense things have been a little difficult. It seems you've caught the attention of the twins." His frankness startled her.

"I, I don't know what you mean." Auriane began. Gods, would everyone be asking her about what happened?

"Well Vilkas talked a great deal about you this morning after laying eyes on you at the feast last night. He was most eager for your sparring match today. He just told me how impressed he was with you and Vilkas is impressed with no one." Kodlak chuckled slightly, but he watched her reaction. She furrowed her brow.

"Vilkas? Really?" Auriane asked uneasily. The words hung heavy after she spoke them.

"Yes," Kodlak responded, "and I have seen the way Farkas looks at you. The way he follows you, like he can’t bear to be out of your presence. He rarely wastes words or time with people, but it seems for you he is generous with both." Auriane looked away, her heart was pounding. She could feel her face reddening as Kodlak watched her.

"You know, he followed you home after the feast, to make sure that you arrived safely to your Uncle’s.”

“What?” She asked, looking up. A warm feeling washed over her as she thought about Farkas silently watching over her. Her face softened with the slightest smile. But she remembered how he had recoiled from her earlier and she shuddered.

“Well, I think all of that was a big misunderstanding.” Auriane said in a low, measured tone, deadening her voice. She was weary over what had happened and took a deep breath, willing a calm to settle in her chest. “I am here only to honor my word to you and to see how my path lies with the Companions, if at all.” She looked at Kodlak resolutely. “But I am not here for distractions.”

“Hmm. Well, very good.” He responded thoughtfully. There was a small, comfortable silence that followed, as each thought about what was just said. Auriane was the first to speak.

“But Kodlak, I am unsure of what help I could possibly be to you or to the Companions. I truly want to help, I really do, but I just don’t see how someone like me could be of any use to you. You already have the best and bravest warriors in all of Skyrim, by Akatosh, probably all of Tamriel.” Auriane paused. She wanted to say that she was no one, that she had achieved nothing and that she had nearly had her arm taken off during training. She let out a long sigh instead.

“Help doesn’t always take the shape of steel or iron. Sometimes its like water, fluid and reflective, adapting to its surroundings and finding its natural balance.” Auriane smiled. He reminded her so much of her beloved mentor, Brother Venien. Kodlak possessed the same calm manner, the thoughtful guidance and the aptitude for knowing the precise word or phrase to make the expanse of his meaning understood. Auriane found it comforting and reassuring.

“Ok.” She said. “What can I do?”

“Well, first you will need to continue training. Although you are not a Companion, you will likely accompany us into danger. I hear you have great skill with a bow and arrow, but you must learn other weapons and fighting techniques. Vilkas has volunteered to further your instruction. I can think of no better teacher.” Inside, Auriane’s guts sank, but she allowed herself to show no emotion. 

“Very good. I am grateful for the opportunity.” She paused. “Have there been any more visions?”

“No,” Kodlak began with a sigh, “and unfortunately, I don’t have any further insight into the one I’ve had. It’s just a feeling, the thread of fate has stitched us together.” Auriane nodded in agreement. She couldn’t help but feel the same. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked over at Kodlak’s desk. It was covered in parchments and dusty tomes.

“Just a little light reading?” She teased.

“Just a little.” He replied with a smile. “I seem to spend my days and nights… wait.” He paused. “Of course, of course.” He grew excited. “Being a Motierre of Chorrol you would have had schooling, correct? Probably the best in the Empire?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ve been in lessons since before I could walk.” Auriane replied.

“Yes, yes. You would make an excellent research assistant. That is, if you enjoy reading and chasing down books about ancient legends that probably don’t exist?” He grinned at her. It was Auriane’s turn to chuckle—this was territory she _could_ handle. 

“My skill with the bow is only surpassed by my skill with a book.” She joked.

“Excellent, excellent.” Kodlak remarked. “I need help pouring over these materials. I’m truly in the dark here. I don’t even know what I need to be looking for most of the time, and time itself is always working against me.” He coughed. “Some of these texts are too old or large to remove from my chambers, so you can review them here anytime you wish. These you can take with you.” Kodlak said as he offered her a small stack.

“Thank you Kodlak.” Auriane responded, gathering the books in front of her. Kodlak continued to cough.

“That doesn’t sound good.” She said after a moment. “Shall I get you some water?” He waved in the negative but continued to cough. Auriane ignored his gestures and went over to the sideboard. She found a pitcher of water, filled a glass and offered it to him. Kodlak accepted the glass and took a deep drink. He initially sputtered as he drank, but the coughing slowly subsided.

“Thank you.” He wheezed. “Please, sit back down.”

“Shall I get someone? Tilma?” Auriane asked, referring to the elderly maid she had met earlier.

“Oh Tilma has enough work to do without having to worry about me.” Kodlak took another sip of the water. “But thank you Auriane, I think I’m much better now.” She frowned.

“Well, I’m not a trained healer, but that doesn’t sound good Kodlak.” She looked at him. He looked tired beyond his years. “Forgive me for asking, but are you not well?” He sighed.

“There are a great many things weighing on me, mind and spirit.” He replied, looking at her. His grey eyes seemed haunted. She leaned toward him and put a hand over his. He was ice cold.

“I will do what is in my power to help you. You have my word.” She said. He grabbed her hand tightly, his eyes wet. Auriane continued. “Together, Kodlak, we will find an answer to what you seek.”

They sat together for a brief moment as they were, her hand warming his, neither speaking. The silence was broken by the soft footsteps of Vilkas’ return. He stopped and stared at the two of them, a look on his face that Auriane couldn’t place.

“Apologies.” Vilkas said softly. “Shall I come back?” He asked.

“No, no.” Kodlak replied, patting Auriane’s hand. “We are just finishing up here.” He turned to Auriane. “Thank you.” He whispered. Auriane nodded. As she stood with the stack of books in hand, one slipped from the pile, landing before her. As she stooped to retrieve it, Vilkas was already handing it to her, crouched in front of her.

“Thanks.” She said to him, not meeting his eye. Standing, she turned back to Kodlak and asked, “Shall I meet with you tomorrow about what I read or discover in these books?”

“Yes, I will look forward to it. Tomorrow evening.” Kodlak said, his voice kind, but weary. A slivery of worry grew in Auriane.

“Look, I know you will protest, but I am going to give Tilma a honey-tea recipe before I leave. It helped me through many an ailment. It’s very restorative. You should drink some this evening.” She said. 

“Oh that’s kind, but not necessary…” Kodlak began.

“I’ll see that he drinks it.” Vilkas said. Auriane turned to look at him and saw the shadow of worry in his face. 

“Well, I can see I’m out numbered.” Kodlak remarked with a soft chuckle. “Thank you Auriane, until tomorrow.”

“Kodlak. Vilkas.” Auriane said, nodding to each as she departed. The latter offered a slight smile. As she made her way down the hall, she looked over her shoulder and saw that Vilkas had taken her seat. He was leaning forward and talking softly with Kodlak. His brow was furrowed with concern. It made Auriane uneasy. 

\----------

Dusk was falling over the streets of Whiterun as she made her way back to her Uncle’s store. Her head was swimming with a million things—Farkas, Kodlak, Vilkas, Aela, her Uncle, her family. She could feel the unwelcome knot behind her left eye tighten. She groaned in annoyance, a fitting way to end the day.

She gathered the stack of books in one arm and slung her pack over her shoulder as she opened the door to Belethor’s shop. Her Uncle greeted her from behind the counter, informing her that she just missed her friend.

“What?” Auriane asked with slight irritation as the headache worsened.

“That big Nord from earlier, what’s his name?” Belethor responded.

“Wait, why was he here?” Auriane asked, putting the books down on the counter before her Uncle. Unwittingly, a small swell of hope crept up in her chest.

“He came to gather the gold for those items he dropped off earlier. He seemed in a hurry to leave.”

“I see.” Auriane said flatly. The icy emptiness that now took hold of her chest was a little too much to bear. She felt the knot in her head tighten.

“There’s still some of your stew from earlier. If you’re hungry I could fix you a bowl.” Her Uncle offered.

“Thank you, but no.” Auriane said, picking up the stack of books again. “I’m actually not feeling well, so I think I’ll just go to sleep, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He answered. “Let me know if you need anything.” He called as she made her way up to the loft room.

Auriane wanted to scream and cry and yell and rage, but beyond terrifying her Uncle, it would serve only to worsen her headache and mood. She shut the door and put the books on the small table under the window, lighting a solitary candle. She removed the leather armor from her body and let it fall on the floor. Sitting on the bed, she tried to practice her breathing, focus her attention on releasing the knot, but she was too tired and distracted. In a disgusted huff, she sat back, her arms behind her. She knew that this was just one day out of her entire life, but in this moment she felt so lonely and overwhelmed. She had just missed Farkas. He was in a rush to avoid her. That wasn’t surprising. She closed her eyes and tried to sense his presence in the store. Was that the smell of his skin she could detect—a mellowed grassy leathered-heat? Or was she just imagining the echo of him?

She shook her head and attempted to focus her breathing again. She couldn’t get past a few cycles without the events of the day bombarding her thoughts: Why did Aela call Farkas and Vilkas “stupid boys?” What were they being stupid about? And what else had she said? “Give in?” What did that mean? And what were Vilkas and Kodlak talking about? The call? A burden to bear? And Kodlak’s vision. He looked tired this evening. Even Vilkas was concerned. Oh gods, Vilkas. I have to train with him again tomorrow. What did Kodlak mean that Vilkas kept talking about me? And Farkas… 

She pressed her lips and tried to suppress the tide of confused emotions that swelled inside of her. She felt like she was going mad. She leapt up and took a long drink of water straight out of the pitcher, streams of water raced down her throat and chest. She roughly wiped her mouth and removed the rest of her clothes. She poured water into the basin and scrubbed her body as though she could wash away her thoughts and feelings. Her head still pounded. She opened her pack and that’s when she saw it. Farkas’ shirt. The one he gave her earlier. She had accidentally packed it with her things. Tears welled up in her eyes as she slowly withdrew it from the bag. As she brought it to her face, she could smell herself and him on the material. She stood for a moment, naked, holding the shirt, and then, she began to softly cry.

“Stupid, stupid girl.” Auriane admonished herself through strained breath. She threw the shirt on her bed and splashed water on her face. Her head still throbbed with a dull ache. She flung open the small window and breathed in the cooler night air. She felt utterly defeated. After awhile, she took the few steps to her bed and collapsed. Eyes closed, she reached out and felt the shirt. She brought it to her face and, holding it, crossed her arms over her bare breasts, drawing her legs up to her chest. There, Auriane found sleep.

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, the angst... ;)


	4. The Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and, as always, please feel free to leave a comment and/or question.
> 
> Suggested listening: "Valentine Heart" by Tanita Tikaram; "Secunda" by Jeremy Soule

\----------

After Farkas left Jorrvaskr, he wandered the Wind District of Whiterun, past the large homes of Battle-Born and Grey-Mane. He found himself exploring the deserted back yards of the Hall of the Dead, the grass already turning straw-yellow as Sun’s Height waned. After a time, Farkas journeyed down the road past the smaller residences and the Drunken Huntsman, which met up with the main town road. He waved to Adrienne at Warmaiden’s across the way. He was friends with both her and her husband, Ulfberth. Farkas had spent many an afternoon there, watching Adrienne work and even trying a little blacksmithing himself. Where Eorlund was too impatient when he taught him, Adrienne was an attentive mentor. He had gained much skill in tempering and shaping steel, trading many a pleasant hour for honest sweat at the forge. 

Farkas made a right and exited the city gates, walking down past the stables. Old Skulvar was shoeing a horse, freeing up a hand to wave emphatically at his son, Jerver. No doubt berating the lad about something. 

Farkas continued on, hiking northeast, and eventually circled the entire city. He absentmindedly walked with no real purpose in mind other than being alone. Farkas had thought about stalking a stag, but the bow in his hand reminded him of Auriane. He had then thought about fishing salmon in the stream, but the way the sunlight played on the surface of the water reminded him of the way the light in his room had danced in her eyes. Everything led back to her.

Farkas continued on.

Late in the day, he found himself on the road heading out past Honningbrew Meadery. A cold wind blew from the north, mingling with the heady aroma of honey and lavender in the plains of Whiterun. A stone bridge lay before him and a road sign signaling the path to Windhelm and Winterhold beyond. He stopped for a moment. The gentle bend of the road up the hills called to him, beckoning him to follow. He could feel the pull on his legs to journey onward. The dead ache in his chest was slightly soothed by the thought of it. Maybe he could just keep walking? Leave Whiterun, Jorrvaskr, leave behind the life he knew with the Companions and….

Farkas sighed, shaking his head. No, he couldn’t do that. It the only life he had ever known. And it was the coward’s way to leave. 

He thought about his father, adopted father, Jergen. How he had wrestled with a calling to fight in the Great War. Farkas recalled a heated discussion between Jergen and Kodlak late one night. 

“You know what it means.” Kodlak had warned. “We are not political. We cannot take sides. There can be no exceptions.” 

Jergen left early the next morning. It was a Tirdas. Farkas remembered the silence that enveloped Jorrvaskr that day, only broken by the calls of Vilkas, desperate, as he ran after Jergen down the steps and past the statute of Talos. Jergen turned and caught Vilkas by the waist, lifting the young boy to his chest, hugging him. Jergen looked up to Farkas, who was silently standing with his arms by his side before the large Hall door. He looked at Farkas for a moment. Did his father’s lips turn to a smile or a grimace? The movement was so slight, Farkas never knew for sure. Jergen turned back to Vilkas and whispered something to the boy as he put him down. Vilkas collapsed into a heap, sobbing. Farkas, unmoving, watched as the only father he had ever known walked away. He couldn’t move away, frozen in place until he felt the hand of Kodlak on his shoulder. Only when he felt the soft squeeze of the Harbinger’s fingers did a tear fall from the young boy’s eye.

No, Farkas would not leave. 

He turned back and walked up through the fields of tall grass and warm wheat. He put his hand out as he walked, letting the soft tips of the golden blades rake through his fingers. Maybe he would help again this year with the Hearthfire Harvest. The others had teased him about wanting to play peasant, but he ignored them. He enjoyed working in the fields, smelling the fresh cuttings and having the sun on his skin. It was hard work, but Farkas didn’t mind. He had come to Jorrvaskr when he was so young, barely out of nappies. This was all he knew. But sometimes he wondered how his life would be if things had been different. Farkas loved the Companions and the honorable life it demanded, but perhaps he could have loved another life as well.

With about thirty minutes until sunset, Farkas reluctantly made his way back inside the city gates. He couldn’t avoid Auriane forever and, if he was honest, he really didn’t want to. As painful as it was to be around her, Farkas reckoned it was more painful to bear her absence. 

He had fully braced himself to run into her at her Uncle’s store and was relieved to find her not there. Farkas quickly collected the gold for the items he had dropped off early that morning, which seemed like a lifetime ago now. He hastily excused himself when Belethor offered him a drink. Exiting the store, he made a right and took the long way around to Jorrvaskr, skirting along the city wall. He rationalized to himself that he wanted to take in the night air, but when he hopped the stone wall and skirted past the guard tower in an effort to stay off the main town road, he knew he was acting like a weak-knee milk drinker, skulking in the shadows to avoid a half and five foot Breton.

Farkas thought that maybe if he stopped at his favorite lookout post, he could clear his head and find a way to figure things out. Alas, even that savage vista with its haunting beauty reminded him of her, so he gave up and went inside the Hall.

Fortune smiled again upon him, for he did not see her in the main hall and as he made his way through the under corridor, he still saw no signs of her. As he walked to his room, he saw Vilkas and Kodlak talking outside the Old Man’s quarters. They seemed to be conversing a lot recently. Farkas walked softly and hugged the right side of the wall, moving unseen. 

He shut and locked the door of his room behind him and let out a long, slow breath. He stood against the door for a moment, looking at the room. Although the fire had long since gone out, Auriane had left a slow-burning candle lit, safely in a lantern. She had removed all traces of herself—his bed was made, the chair was righted and put back, the bandages and supplies were neatly stacked and on the back shelf. He didn’t realize until that moment that part of him wished she were still there. 

He inattentively took off his armor, putting it on the table. He started a small fire in the hearth and sat down with a loaf of bread, some smoked salmon and two bottles of mead. He stared into the flames as he ate, doing his best to empty his mind. In an effort for his cause, he made short work of the mead, emptying the bottles dry. He rummaged through his room looking for more and was rewarded for his efforts. He paused when he came across the wine he gave to Auriane earlier. He downed its contents and sat down with another bottle of mead. 

After he began to feel drowsy, he stood and removed the rest of his clothes and grabbed the soap and rag from his cabinet. Using fresh water from a bucket by the door, Farkas bathed by the fire, enjoying the feeling of clean skin and the cool water. He washed his hair, dunking his head and using a rough linen towel over his hair and body. Welcoming the mead-numb feeling that overtook him, Farkas yawned, stretching his large frame. He had anticipated a restless night, but he was feeling quite calm and tired. Naked, he pulled back the blanket to his bed and lay down. 

That’s when he smelled her.

His blanket, his pillow, the sweet-hay mattress itself all were covered in her scent. The smell of her hair, her skin, the essence of the nutty, spiced oil she used. He could also smell her sex, musky and sweet. He breathed in sharply, trying to remain calm. He turned his head to the fire and saw a long, brown hair on his pillow. He gently grasped it between his trembling fingers and pulled it free. The length made its ownership undeniable. The light from the fire illuminated the auburn glow of the strand, as if needing further confirmation. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it, letting the length of it run across the fullness of his bottom lip. He turned his head to look back at the ceiling, his breathing more rapid. It was as though she was there with him, in his bed, the scent of her was overpowering. He closed his eyes and gave in. 

He recalled how she was earlier with him, the flush of her cheeks, the dilation of her eyes, the rise and fall of her chest, setting her breasts quivering. Farkas thought about how small she felt against him, but there was no frailty or shrinking coyness. As though ignited, she kissed and grasped and marked him in her own way, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him close. Moving against him—no, moving with him, in a united rhythm. 

The blanket against his naked body provided a pleasant friction. Along with her scent and his thoughts, he found himself quickening. Farkas ripped away the blanket and caught himself in his hand, gripping firmly. A moan slipped from his lips. He was painfully full and clear crystals of precum were already leaking trails down his cock to the downy base of his balls. He gathered up the viscous liquid and stroked himself, moaning further at the incredibly slick sensation. There was no turning back.

He closed his eyes again and continued to think about Auriane as he stroked himself, slowly but steadily. He thought about her breasts and how her nipples felt in his mouth. How she had twisted and cooed when he had pulled on them with his lips and teeth. He had loved tracing kisses down her stomach. She had tensed with each of his movements, but had also responded with a subtle undulation of her hips. Farkas thought about the heat of her sex against his mouth when he positioned himself between her legs. Looking at her from the sweetest of vantages, he could see her lips pressing and parting as he worked her with his mouth, greedily lapping her cunt. Gods, her taste. Farkas licked his lips and began to stroke himself vigorously, barely able to stifle his moans. 

He remembered how he had built the fever in her until finally she had come, rising off the bed, tense and shaking. To bring her to such pleasure, to be the architect of her bliss had made Farkas impossibly hard. He had wanted her so badly and when he had moved back up her body, his mouth still sticky with her nectar, she had looked in his eyes, her golden gaze dark with lust and begged him to fuck her. Farkas whimpered. He pumped his throbbing cock fast; he was so close now. She had wrapped her arms around him, her hips moving against him as her sopping wet groin sought to connect with his own. She had hissed in his ear that she wanted to feel him inside, to take him in. The thought of being inside Auriane tipped him over the edge. Farkas grunted and whimpered as he came hard, spilling his seed in powerful bursts, his hips involuntarily bucking into the air. 

Panting, he pumped himself a few times, shuddering as he squeezed the last bit of cum from his sensitive cock. The release felt so good. All pressure in his body faded away and he was relaxed and calm. He lay there, trying to regain control of breathing, dozing in and out of consciousness. After a few blissful moments, he rose, grabbing the rag in the bucket and cleaned himself. It had been many a year since he had soiled his bed linen in such a manner. He threw it off and grabbed another from the chest on the far side of the room. As he fit it to the mattress, Farkas suddenly found himself shivering. He could feel the unease creeping back in. He sighed. Had he really thought that a desperate tug would have made everything better? He hastily put on a clean set of smalls and a pair of linen pants. He retrieved the cast-off blanket from the floor and wrapped it around himself, inhaling. Her scent was reassuringly still there. He collapsed on the bed and lay there for a long while, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

\----------

When Auriane awoke it was still dark. The worst of her headache was gone and she was only left with the hollow, dull ache of where it had been. She sighed and rolled over, trying to will herself back to sleep, but her efforts were in vain. She could not fall back asleep. She sat up in bed and realized that she was still clutching Farkas’ shirt. She sat for a moment like that, the shirt in her lap, the moonlight filtering into the loft room, bathing the space in a washed-out hue. The window was still open and the air was cool and crisp. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, but it felt good against her tired body. She always liked it a little colder when she had headaches. But she still felt an itchy restlessness that sleep had not soothed. Auriane slowly slipped the shirt over her head and put her arms through the sleeves. She breathed in. Faintly, she could still smell him on the fabric as it settled against her body. She smiled despite herself. 

She stood and stretched, raising her arms over her head. Her mouth and tongue were dry from the night air. Auriane walked over to the table and took a long drink from the pitcher of water. The cool water had the desired effect. As she set the pitcher down, she surveyed the room, leaning against the dresser. That’s when she saw Kodlak’s books on the table. She shrugged. If she couldn’t fall asleep, at least she could be productive. Lighting the lanterns in her room cast a warm, more cheerful glow over the space and it lifted her mood. She quietly brought a chair over to the table and opened the first tome.

Auriane flipped through the third edition of “A Pocket Guide to the Empire-Skyrim,” reading about the Atmorans of the first era and Ysgramor’s clan. Some of these passages she had already learned about, but not this in-depth. She then picked up “Night of Tears” and read about Saarthal, the ancient capital of Skyrim during Ysgramor’s time and it’s ransacking by the Snow Elves. Auriane was enthralled. Again, she remembered learning about in a distant history lesson, but here she was in the land of Ysgramor, studying the tale from books provided to her by the Harbinger of the Companions. An excited shiver wrung through her. She read for another couple of hours until the stiffness in her body begged her to take a break.

Auriane stood and stretched, moving her neck from side to side. Her mind was racing from all she had read and she needed to pace and process. It was a lifelong habit when she wanted to sort her thoughts. She slowly worked trails back and forth across the floor, sometimes mumbling aloud, other times bringing her hands together in front of her mouth, tapping her fingers together, lost in herself. 

She had no idea how long she continued on that way, until something brought her back to herself. She stopped. Thoughts of Farkas immediately flooded her brain. The few hours' break had only made those thoughts more pronounced. She lowered her head and brought part of the tunic’s shoulder to her nose, gently pressing her lips to the material. She breathed in and felt his presence so strongly, as though he was there with her. She had to stop herself when she felt her eyes well. Hastily, she wiped them and continued pacing until she stopped again. Auriane cocked her head and listened, her ears filtering though the softest of sounds around her. A chill went through her body and she remembered the window was still open. She walked over to it and looked out. It overlooked the merchant stalls. Auriane leaned out and looked upon the deserted scene. She continued to listen, scanning the area. She suddenly heard a noise. She froze, holding her breath until she saw Brenuin, the town beggar, stumbling from the side of the Bannered Mare, knocking over a barrel in his wake. He kicked at it, cursing it and stumbled down the main road, out of her view. Auriane exhaled audibly. She still had no idea what time it was, but the darkness of the night was yielding to the faintest blush of the coming morn. Yawning, Auriane shut the window. 

Walking over to the table, she closed all the books and gathered them into a pile. She collected the notes she had made and secured the separate pieces of paper. She then blew out the lanterns and returned to her bed. Snuggling under the blankets, Auriane eventually drifted off to sleep.

\----------

Farkas awoke to the dead silence of Jorrvaskr. He tossed and turned, finally throwing back the blanket and sitting up. Although he had dozed off, he could not get into a deep sleep. He felt as though he hadn’t slept for days and his eyes burned with fatigue. Standing with an uncharacteristic creak, he yawned and made his way over to the table. The fire in the hearth had all but gone out; tiny ruby coals were all that remained. With it, the room was colder and less inviting. Farkas took a swig of the last of the stale mead in the bottle—he nearly spit it out onto the floor. He muttered something about horse piss and then found his boots. Grabbing a tunic, he put it over his head as he left his room. 

The underhall was quiet. It must be early morning, around 4 am. He knew he should be sleeping like everyone else. The day ahead’s tasks would not care that he was without sleep, but he needed to take a walk. Climbing the stairs, Farkas found the main hall just as quiet. He grabbed a sweet roll as he exited the Hall, licking his sticky fingers after inhaling the bun. Gods he was hungry. Hopefully Tilma would cook up a big breakfast later. Farkas smiled. She was the closest thing he had ever had to a mother and, if he was honest, he was fond of the old woman. 

Walking down the stairs from Jorrvaskr, past the shrine to Talos, Farkas found himself alone, save the occasional guard. He slowly circled the Gildergreen, the tiny brook that outlined the plaza so much louder in the still of the night. He thought he may retrace his steps from earlier, but decided to walk down through the merchant stalls. Descending the stairs, his stomach growled. Maybe breakfast at Jorrvaskr wouldn’t be soon enough. He checked his pockets and by the luck of Shor’s Beard, he had a couple of septims. Perhaps enough to get a bowl of whatever Hulda had on the cooking fire. He made his way down to the Bannered Mare.

Farkas was about to enter the side door of the inn, when he looked over to Belethor’s store. That’s when he saw the soft light coming from the open attic window. His breath caught in his chest. He could see Auriane pacing back and forth. She didn’t look distraught, but she was deep in thought. Farkas swallowed hard. Her long brown hair was down, but looked messy and wild, like she had been sleeping on it. A weird peace fell over Farkas. It was good to cast his eyes upon her again. He leaned his left shoulder against the wall of the Inn, folded his arms and comfortably continued to watch her. She looked like she was talking at times, moving her hand at others. Farkas felt like he could stay that way for hours. Watching her made him content. 

After a time, Auriane stopped pacing and stood still. Farkas continued to watch her, not thinking anything of it, until he saw her lower her head. His pulse quickened as he realized that she was wearing the off-white tunic he had given her earlier. It was too big for her and the collar had slipped to one side, leaving a pale shoulder bare. She brought part of the fabric up to her face and closed her eyes. A sad look washed over her and Farkas could see the tears form in her eyes. Auriane hastily wiped her face and continued to pace the floor. 

Like the fierce lightening during Rain’s Hand, it struck him. Auriane was also struggling with what had happened. It had not occurred to him before this moment that she would be upset. Yes, upset at maybe not being fulfilled physically, but that would be a short-lived annoyance with awkwardness to follow. But he could see that Auriane was burning as he did. Farkas’ heart sank, but he was puzzled. Why would anyone be dismayed over him? Plenty of women wanted to bed him for a variety of reasons, but they had not cared for him. It never bother Farkas before, because he had not felt anything for them. With Auriane, however? Well, to him, that was a world’s difference. 

But did she, did she feel the same? 

He had never wanted anything to be more true in his entire life. 

Maybe she did want to be with him as he wanted to be with her, not just a rough tumble and a good time, but something deeper, something more. 

Farkas shook his head. They barely knew one another. He had just assumed that she wanted him physically, like the others. But why would she be like the others when she was different from anyone he had ever known? He berated himself—maybe he really was an ice-brain. He remembered how she had cupped his face and looked at him. There was heat, but there was tenderness. It had been strange to him, foreign, but he quickly found it a comfort. When they lay together, she had whispered to him, with sweetest desperation, that she wanted him inside of her. 

He drew in a sharp breath recalling the feeling of her hot breath on his neck. Could she feel for him? Was it really. . . . 

He couldn’t bring himself to even complete the thought in his head, let alone whisper the words to the night. But he knew it was the inconvenient truth that he had been avoiding all day. He instinctively took a step toward her, wanting to go to her, to tell her that she should not be upset, that it was his fault. He wanted to climb her uncle’s storefront, enter the open window and take her into his arms. He wanted to smooth her hair, hold her in his arms and let her nuzzle against him. Just as he brought her pleasure earlier, he wanted to take her sadness from her. 

But of course he stopped himself, frozen, his hands at his sides. He looked at her from across the market stalls. It was only a few paces but it might has well been leagues. What could he actually say to her? What could he offer her to provide comfort and succor? She would want answers he could never give her. She would want embraces that he could not provide to her, not without hurting her. A powerful self-loathing washed over him. 

All of a sudden, Auriane stopped moving. Farkas could see that she was listening and her senses were alerted. Quickly, he moved to the northwest facing wall of the Inn, pressing against it and peered out from behind it to continue watching her. She came to the window and looked out. Farkas moved his head further behind the wall, only risking one eye. He was certain she hadn’t seen him. Just then, there was a commotion on the other side of the Inn and he heard Brenuin cursing something in a drunken stupor. Farkas was never so happy for the beggar’s presence. Auriane gave more look and ducked her head back into the room. She shut the window and Farkas could see her shadow movements, ghosts of her, but they fed his cravings, albeit meagerly. He watched until he saw the lights go out and then, after a few moments, he emerged from behind the Inn. Morning was already on the horizon, diffusing the dark with only the promise of a new day. Farkas decided to save his septims, for he had lost his appetite. He cast one more glance at Auriane’s window, before climbing the stairs to the Wind District.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting/different chapter to write. Even though it's a shorter chapter, it could feel static at times. But I think it served as an incubator of thought and emotions for the characters and for the next segment of their journey. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed reading!


	5. An Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Auriane's archery technique is inspired by Lars Andersen's "A New Level of Archery." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEG-ly9tQGk

After a few restless hours, Auriane awoke. It was still early. She listened. There were no sounds in her uncle’s shop—neither Belethor nor his hired Nord assistant, Sigurd, were awake. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to be the only one moving around. It gave the sense, albeit false, of being alone in the world. She quietly arose and removed Farkas’ shirt. She folded it neatly and placed it on a shelf, but not before letting her fingers idle over the fabric. She shook her head at the foolish sentiment.

Auriane washed her face and brushed her hair, plaiting it and then securing it up off her neck. She proceeded to wash her body with what remained of the water, long since cold in the unheated room. How she missed the lazy baths she enjoyed in Chorrol. Hot, steaming and scented with oils. Her skin prickled at the memory of the sensation. After washing, she dressed in clean smalls, breast wrap and her pair of oiled-leather pants and a form-fitting shirt. After fastening her boots, she strapped on her new armor and quietly made her way down stairs.

Poking around in the small back room, she found an apple, cheese and bread. Hungrily, she wolfed down the breakfast, finishing the meal with a few hearty swigs of cider. 

Quietly shutting the door behind her, Auriane headed out into the Merchant’s Plaza. Several of the merchants were decorating their stalls and stores with brightly colored flags. The Merchant’s Festival—Auriane had forgotten about the Skyrim holiday. Her uncle, no doubt, was thrilled to have to give a discount to his customers. Chuckling at the thought, Auriane smiled at Carlotta as she passed the woman’s stall and made her way up the stone steps. Passing the Gildergreen, she made her way up more steps leading to Jorrvaskr when she stopped to look at the Statue of Talos. The imposing figure loomed over the city. He stood triumphant over the coiled form of snake, plunging his sword into it. Was that the representation of Lorkhan, the trickster? Or was the Shezzarine? The old stories and creation lore always confused her. As she looked at the effigy of the Nord man-god, she wondered what it was about him that drove men to die in unfamiliar fields.

Auriane did not enter the Jorrvaskr main door, but walked around the building to the training yard. She surveyed the empty landscape—cups and plates abandoned on the tables. She walked down to the training pit and grabbed the longest, biggest sword from the rack. She could barely lift it. Unwilling to give into the growing despair, she began doing exercises with both hands, lifting the weapon to train her arms to grow accustom to the weight. Quickly, a burning grew in her muscles, but she continued. The sweat building on her brow and a fiery pain raced through her arms, shoulders and back, but she emptied her mind and focused on her breathing. 

“Well, I see you began without me.”

Startled, Auriane dropped the sword as she turned to see Vilkas standing behind her. He was in full armor and two targets were tucked under his arms. He chuckled.

“If you keep up like that, your arms will fall off and you’ll even be more useless to train.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I…I…” Auriane panted. “I can barely lift the damn thing…”

“What, this little thing?” Vilkas stooped and picked up the sword. He handled it with one hand like it was a toothpick. Auriane grunted.

“Well, I need to build up my arms.”

“Aye,” Vilkas began, walking over to the weapons rack and replacing the long sword, “but let’s start you with a one-handed short sword. It will suit you better anyway.” He removed the smaller weapon and tossed it to Auriane. She caught it with ease. Compared to the other weapon, it felt like a feather in her hand. Despite herself, relief washed over her face. Vilkas laughed.

“Ha! More your size, eh?” It was Auriane’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She wanted to kick him in the leg and box his ears, but he was her teacher now. She would respect the dynamic and, in turn, him.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” She responded flatly, looking downward. Vilkas huffed before responding.

“Oh come now, none of that standing on ceremony with me." Auriane raised her eyes and looked at the Nord. He continued. "You need to bring that fire you threw at me yesterday or we’ll never get on.” They stood for a moment, across from one another, not speaking. He frowned and moved to place the targets against the wall. As he turned back to her, an expectant look was on his face. Auriane shrugged. 

“Ok," she began, “you know, I am surprised your boots dried out as well as they did. That was an awful lot of mead that my arrows spilled on them yesterday.” She grinned. Villas attempted to steel his jaw, but erupted into hearty laughter after a few seconds.

“That’s more like it!” He boomed. 

They worked together in the training pit for hours. Vilkas first showed her basic blocking and attack stances. Afterward, they practiced sparing, continuing with sword work and then moving on to basic grappling and hand-to-hand combat. At times, it simply devolved into awkward wrestling. They were sweaty, dirt-covered and breathing heavy, but neither one showed any signs of letting up. 

By this point, the other recruits and members of the Companions had filtered into the training yard to practice. Tilma and others had gathered the mess left on the tables and outfitted them with fresh sustenance and drink. When the sun was high in the sky, Vilkas motioned for Auriane to follow him to a table and they sat down.

“You know, new-blood,” Vilkas began as he poured them both mugs of water, “although you’re panting like a horker in heat, I’m surprised you haven’t completely passed out. I’ve put you through your paces this morning.” Auriane chuckled.

“Hmm, well I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?” She asked with a sly smile, grabbing some grapes and freshly roasted rabbit.

“All kidding aside, you train like you’re a professional. You don’t see that kind of skill in your average Breton lass.” He eyed her over the rim of his mug. Auriane caught his skeptical look.

“Well, I’m not your average Breton lass, am I?” She remarked light-heartedly. Vilkas raised an eyebrow. Auriane continued. “Besides, how many average Breton lasses do you know?”

“Oh a fair few.” He said with a mischievous grin.

“Gods, those poor, disappointed girls.” Auriane groaned.

“Ha! That’s why I like you new-blood. You give as good as you get.” 

“Well, after all I’m a trained spy from Daggerfall, sent to infiltrate the mighty Companions.” 

“Alright, alright. Keep your secrets, but I’ve got my ways to get it out of you.” He joked, but there was a growing look in his eye that made her a little uncomfortable. She couldn’t quite describe it, but it reminded her of gnawing hunger, like the look she saw in Farkas’ eyes when they were together in his room. She pressed her lips together. Gods, these twins were intense, she thought.

“Really, there’s no secret. I had a tutor growing up that taught me some things. I think he was an old warrior monk that never had children of his own and liked passing on what he knew. Really, that’s it.” 

“Well now,” Vilkas began, “a warrior monk is not an everyday thing.” He leanws forward with his elbows on the table. “Where was this again?”

“Back home, in Colovia. Chorrol.”

“So your family hired a warrior monk for their girl-child? Seems you have unusual parents as well.” Auriane laughed.

“No, Brother Venien saved my life after a wolf attack in the Great Forrest.” Auriane began. Funny that she should be recounting this story again, and to Farkas’ brother no less. Auriane wasn’t sure, but it appeared that Vilkas stiffened with her words, but she continued. “When he returned me to my father, I would not be parted from him. I don’t remember much in the aftermath of that night, but within the next few days, Brother Venien was my tutor, my mentor.” Vilkas sat thoughtfully and they continued their meal. After a while, he spoke.

“Chorrol. That’s near old Weynon Priory, yes? Or at least where it used to be?” He asked.

“Yes, you are correct.” Auriane answered after thinking for a moment, concentrating on her rabbit. “But, uh, it’s in ruins now, destroyed after the end of the Great War and the signing of the White-Gold Concordant, like so much in Cyrodiil.” Auriane paused and looked up. “Probably when I was around five years old.” 

Again, they sat eating their meal in silence, but it was obvious that Vilkas’ brain was racing. 

“New-blood.” He said with a start. “Show me your archery technique.” Auriane nearly spit out her drink.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Vilkas said, rising. “I want to see you in action.” Auriane couldn’t believe her ears. Even among the Companions, Vilkas was revered for his skill as a weapons-master. Now, he wanted her to give a demonstration.

“Um…ok, Vilkas.” She managed, as she struggled to follow him to the training pit, his eagerness shown in the long strides of his gait. 

Vilkas set up the targets at one end of the yard and joined Auriane on the other.

“But this is too close for good training.” Auriane protested without irony.

“Ok, don’t brag.” Vilkas remarked. “This is what we have to work with.” Auriane hadn’t meant to jest, but she nodded.

“There is a difference between target archery and combat archery.” She explained.

“Besides the obvious?” Vilkas asked.

“You can line up your shot with your eye for target practice. For combat practice, however, you can’t line up your shots as you run or ride a horse. This is especially so if you are firing in rapid succession. It’s best to shoot without lining the bow to your eye, but timing your breath with the arrow’s release.” Vilkas was silent, but the interest on his face was evident. 

“Show me.”

Auriane aimed at the target, lining the bow before her with the arrow and her eye. She inhaled and released. The arrow powerfully landed dead-center of the target. She loaded and loosed another arrow—it split the first arrow down the middle, replacing it. 

“Now, grab those wooden training shields.” She said to Vilkas, gesturing at the equipment on the rack. He grabbed three. “Toss them at me quickly, in random intervals.” 

Auriane grabbed three arrows with her drawing hand and took several steps back. As Vilka began to toss the shields, Auriane ran. She held the bow with her left hand low, not lining it with her eye, and, as she moved, she rapidly loaded and released the three arrows in quick succession, moving the bow and her left hand, only to vertically align with the height of the moving target. It was only the matter of seconds, but as Auriane turned to face Vilkas, the last of the three shields clattering onto the cobblestone, all were pierced in the center by her three arrows. Vilkas was silent. His face showed awe, but not surprise. After a few moments he spoke.

“That is an ancient method of combat archery.” He remarked. “I, I have only read about it in books, but I’ve never seen anyone actually execute it.” He stepped forward and stooped, surveying the shields on the ground. “Do you know the name to the method?” He asked.

“No, I just figured it was the way every soldier or warrior was trained.” Auriane said sheepishly, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“It is Akaviri.” Vilkas said, standing. “I think there was more to Brother Venien than meets the eye.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He was just a monk, a holy man who was also trained to fight.” 

“I think he was a Blade, Auriane.” She stood still as though all the sound left the world. 

“A Blade?” She whispered. Could it be true? Hadn’t the Thalmor ended the Blades when they laid siege to Cloud Ruler Temple, fracturing the Order and slaughtering its members? She forced herself to calm her racing mind and recall the dates. In 4E 175 the White-Gold Concordant was signed and Cloud Ruler Temple was destroyed. About five, six years later Weynon Prior was destroyed, a known safe house for the monks rumored to be members of the Blades. A few years after that, she encountered Brother Venien in the Great Forrest. Maybe he had lived rough for that time, escaping the Thalmor purge, but unable to secure passage out of Cyrodiil. Her heart began to race. Was this possible? And did her father know?

“Auriane?” Vilkas’ words pulled her back from the edge of her thoughts.

“I…I need to umm… I need to take a break.” She said, stumbling backwards. She put the bow down and walked out of the training yard.

“Of course.” Vilkas said softly as he watched her walk away. Perhaps he hadn’t handled that as delicately as he should have. He ran his fingers over his scalp, moving his dark hair off his face. He was in just as much shock as she was. Who was this woman that had stumbled into their lives?

\----------

Farkas had not had a good morning.

He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before and what he did manage was not restful. After returning to Jorrvaskr in the early hours, he was exhausted, but could not rest. He was hungry but could not eat. Skjor had chewed him out for not returning the gold from the sold items yesterday and now Aela was on his case for not following up on the assignments he had tasked the new recruits with. He thought maybe he’d grab some bread and mead and go to his favorite lookout post, but when he emerged from Jorrvaskr, he saw Auriane and Vilkas sparring in the pit. They were dirty, sweaty and laughing. Farkas froze—his blood boiling. He loved his brother, but he could have torn his throat out right then and there. Plus, he felt himself wanting to take Auriane possessively, strip her clothes and mount her right there in the training yard before the eyes of all the Companions. To mark her as his. The thought turned his stomach but also excited him. What the hell was wrong with him? When the thought arose in him that Auriane may perhaps like it too, he whimpered with want. Farkas stumbled back inside the Hall.

The main dining area was cluttered with people talking and laughing. He rolled his eyes. He thought it best to be alone. He went downstairs; the underhall was thankfully deserted. He couldn’t bear to go back to his room, so he sat on one of the long benches for a long time and ate in silence, staring at the floor. He was so engrossed in his own misery, he didn’t hear the gentle sounds of sweeping near him.

“A septim for your thoughts?” Tilma asked. Farkas looked up and smiled.

“Tilma.” The name warmed him. The older woman sat down next to him and leaned against his shoulder. He maneuvered his arm so he could embrace her, holding her close. She chuckled.

“My boy, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you this down. What ails you lad?” Farkas wanted to cry and curl up in the woman’s arms like when he was a young boy. She would smooth his hair and sing him old Nordic lullabies. But he stubbornly held firm and stilled the tremble in his voice.

“Nothing dear Tilma.” He said softly.

“Nonsense, my boy. I’ve known you since you were swaddled and I’ve seen you grow into a man, good and strong. I know you better than you know yourself.” She was not wrong. She had raised him and was the closest he or his brother had known of a mother. But what could he tell her? It seemed the people that he felt closest to where the very ones with which he could not speak freely. As if sensing his thoughts, Tilma leaned away to look at him and spoke.

“You know my dear, I see everything, hear everything and know everything.” She patted his cheek in her ancient hand. Farkas nearly sobbed.

“Tilma.” He whispered.

“But keep your secrets dear, as I’ve kept them these many years.” She leaned forward, touching her forehead to his. “You are a different spirit. Your strength has always been your greatest vulnerability. You run deep like the great northern rivers that feed the Sea of Ghosts.” She kissed him softly on the cheek and smiled, a twinkle in her eye.

“I know you’re pained. And I know there’s nothing I can say to ease your mind or heart, but know this dear boy,” she stood, broom in hand, “I’ve lived long enough to see things sort themselves. This too shall pass.” And with a final, tender smile, she continued on with her work. Farkas absentmindedly watched her for a time. She may just be the bravest, wisest soul in Jorrvaskr, he thought. He sat for a while longer and then sought out the new recruits to follow up on the assignments. Afterward, he went to his lookout post to take in the afternoon sun and air.

\----------

Auriane had no idea how to reconcile Vilkas’ words. The Blades? The legendary order of dragon fighters and ancient protectors of the Emperor? She wasn’t sure why it affected her as it did. Perhaps it was another random thread of the Aetherius that was weaving together to form her fate. As overwhelmed as she felt, there was a nagging feeling that somehow it made sense. Perhaps it was the discomfort that came with peering behind the veil to see the secret workings. She hadn’t had any plan when she left the training yard, but just that she needed to walk. As she exited the yard, she made a left past Jorrvaskr, hugging the wall. She stopped at a covered dugout in the stonework that opened to a breathtaking vantage point. She could see the green fields of Whiterun gently waiving in the breeze that swept over the land. She breathed deeply and caught the scent of honey and lavender from the meadery. The sun felt good on her face. She closed her eyes and allowed her body to sway in the wind, imperceptible to the average eye. She timed her breathing and felt a calm wash over her body, from her scalp to her toes.

After a time, she felt a presence behind her. She didn’t immediately move. The size made her think that Vilkas had come to check on her. She took another breath, focusing it behind her. The scent of earthy moss warmed her deeply.

“Farkas.” She said softly. A gentle hand on her shoulder was all the confirmation she needed. It was as though she had willed him to her. Of all the people in all of Mundus, she had wanted to see him the most. But she didn’t want to lose him or this moment. She didn’t turn around. Instead, she slowly moved backward to meet him, her back to his chest. When their bodies met, it felt like magnets coming home. She rested her head against him and he put his arms around her. She kept her eyes closed. Maybe it was just a dream? The warmth of the sun, the intoxicating scent of the fields, the comforting presence of this complicated man behind her. Auriane lost herself to the feeling. But fear grew the longer they stayed that way. She was scared to move, scared to face him, scared to talk, scared to lose him. She sighed and he loosened his arms. Without thinking she grabbed them.

“No, I need you.” She said.

“I know. And I need you to.” He said softly. “But I can’t hurt you again, it would kill me.” Farkas paused. “And, I…. I can’t be around you without wanting you. I don’t know what to do except not allow myself to be around you. I would want to stay with you in my room forever. I could take years studying your face and stroking your cheek, but I am afraid for you and for myself.” Auriane was silent and still, his words filling her and tearing her apart. She barely breathed and she kept her eyes tightly shut. She concentrated on him. She felt his attraction, but also his turmoil. She knew what she must do.

“Ok.” She eventually whimpered. Her skull was screaming. “Th…thank you for telling me.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll respect your space.” She let his arms loose. She felt them slowly slip from her body. After a moment, she could feel the cooling breeze against her back as he left her. She did not turn around. She took a few steps forward and leaned against the lookout wall. When she opened her eyes, silent tears blurred her vision. 

\----------

Eventually, Auriane found her way down into the cool shelter of Jorrvaskr’s Underhall. She was wandering more than anything, but slowly made her way to Kodlak. He was seated at his table, as always. The old man looked up as he saw Auriane approach. He frowned at the vacant look in her face. 

“Auriane, a septim for your thoughts?” He asked.

“What?” Auriane asked, looking up startled. Her eyes widened as she came back to herself. “Kodlak, sir. I am sorry.”

“No need for all that child. Come here. Sit down and join me.” 

Auriane found her seat. They talked for a while about the books she borrowed and what she had read during the night. They bantered back and forth with various observations about the materials and the Companions’ history. After a lull in the conversation, Auriane released a long, audible sigh. Kodlak raised an eyebrow.

“Did the training go that well?” He half joked.

“It was a long day Kodlak,” she started, “but no, the training went well. I learned so much from Vilkas. I am feeling better about my place here, helping you.”

“Very good. He is one of our best.” Kodlak remarked, pouring two glasses of sweet mead for the two of them. “What else made your day long?” 

Auriane paused. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get into this with Kodlak, or really anyone for that matter.

“I made a mistake and it has been rectified.” She said stoically. “But still… it is hard.” She forbid the tears to well in her eyes.

“You know what I think? I’ll assume you do since you’re sitting here.” Kodlak said with a smile. “I think you need to get out of Whiterun for a while.”

“Hmm?” Auriane asked, looking up, still lost in thought.

“Yes, yes,” began Kodlak nodding, “a nice trip out of the city would do you wonders I think. Plus, it’s necessary.”

“Out of Whiterun? Where? To Honningbrew Meadery?”

“Oh no, dear. I was thinking some place a bit further a field. Have you been to Winterhold?” Auriane’s jaw dropped.

“Winterhold? Isn’t that the very north of Skyrim?”

“Near abouts. It lies on the Sea of Ghosts to the East and, sadly, much of it lies in the sea now.” Auriane nodded. She remembered hearing about the event that caused much of the city to collapse into the sea below, fueling confusion and fear among the surviving townsfolk.

“What is in Winterhold?” She asked.

“There is a College there, the last vestige of the Mages Guild in Skyrim. They have an immense library there, a collection unrivaled in all of Tamriel, especially after the Great War.”

“I see.” Auriane said. “And I assume me need to gather some books for our research?”

“One book, a very particular book that just may be the key to everything.”

“Well, that sounds serious.” Auriane grinned. 

“It is, in a way.” Kodlak remarked, himself now lost in thought.

“I’ll get it Kodlak.” She said soberly.

“I know, my dear.” He said, coming back to himself and smiling at her. “Also, while you are there, I want to you to talk to Mirabelle Ervine about exploring your magical capabilities. While your skills in archery seem unparalleled, your abilities as a mage are wanting and I think you have quite the aptitude.”

Truth be told, she was very happy to be leaving Whiterun for a little while, although, she was apprehensive about making the journey. But she knew she could handle it. It would be a challenge. Now, convincing her uncle, on the other hand… 

“Of course you wouldn’t be making the journey alone.” Kodlak said, as if reading her mind. “How about I send one of the twins with you?” Her face reddened and her heart leapt to her throat. Kodlak turned his head and looked down the hall. “Speaking of which…” he trailed off as he waved his hand. Auriane couldn’t look. She prayed to the eight, the nine and the three. Not Farkas.

“Yes?” She heard a voice say. Her breath returned to her.

“Vilkas, would you accompany Auriane to Winterhold. We need to get our hands on that book and I think the College is our best bet.” Vilkas stood silent for a moment, looking from Kodlak to Auriane. He sensed an underlying current, but knew he would be kept in the dark. 

“Aye Kodlak. If that is what you wish.” Vilkas said.

“Thank you Vilkas. I think it would be best if you and Auriane started off first thing in the morning. Are you in agreement Auriane?”

“Yes Kodlak, I am.”

“Good, then it’s settled. Well, if you two will excuse me, I’m going to retire.” Auriane stood as Kodlak made his way into his room, softly shutting the door behind him.

“Thank you Vilkas.” Auriane said. She was truly at a loss for words.

“You are welcome lass. I know it’s important to the Old Man and it would be a terrible trek to make on one’s own. I feel better that your bow is watching my back.” Auriane smiled, despite herself. Vilkas’ eyes softened and he returned her smile.

“Well, I guess I should return home and pack. I’ll meet you here at first light?”

“Nay, no need. I’ll meet you in front of your uncle’s store. No sense in you doubling back. Shall I walk you home now?” Auriane stopped and looked at him.

“Oh, there’s no need for that. But, thank you.” She said. She pressed her lips together. “Good night Vilkas.”

“Good Night Auriane.” She felt his eyes hot on her as she walked down the long corridor, eventually disappearing into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed posting - life and all. Thank you for your patience and continued readership!! I hope it was worth the wait.


End file.
